


It's Always Horny On Main (In Kuoh): A Trent and Xan Sequel

by Xan Author of the Nightmare (xanothos)



Series: Trent and Xan's Excellent Adventure [2]
Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Highschool DxD (Anime)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26160613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanothos/pseuds/Xan%20Author%20of%20the%20Nightmare
Summary: Sequel to "It's Always Sunny In Trifas", the Fate/Apocrypha Dual SI featuring myself and Lord Trent Blackmore. Read that first! That said, this will be a Highschool DxD/Fate crossover, with the bulk of the crossover being DxD. Be ready for big dumb shonen shit and big dumb anime tiddy, because that's this setting in a shellnut.
Relationships: Relationships pending - Relationship
Series: Trent and Xan's Excellent Adventure [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900942
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter One: In A New World With My GudaGuda Life

**Chapter One: In A New World With My GudaGuda Life**

Staring up at the sky, Trent took a deep breath of the early afternoon air. Considering that it wasn’t the dead of night anymore, he could only conclude that they’d been torn very far from Trifas. Flexing his hands, the blond asked, “Guys, you there?”

“I’m here! And in one piece too!” Astolfo answered, sounding entirely too enthused for what they had just gone through. There was a brief muffled mumbling, followed by the Rider shouting, “Oh no, Master! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sit on your face!”

Johan, after pulling his face from the dirt and brushing himself off, offered, “I’m alive.” He cast about himself for a moment and scooped his grimoire from the dirt. “At least this thing made the trip here too...wherever here is.”

Sitting up and taking a moment to watch Astolfo help Charlie straighten up, the Canadian looked around, his brows furrowed. “Looks a bit like a mountainside,” he said that as he looked down over a great field of cherry blossoms stretching out below. “There’s a lotta cherry blossoms down there, maybe it’s some sort of botanical garden?”

“Maybe,” Johan replied with a shrug, paging open his grimoire. “I’ll see if I can’t summon a familiar to take a look around…”

Skipping over to the edge of the cliff, Astolfo bounced on his toes as he exclaimed, “Oh man, those’re so pretty! I can’t wait to go down there, imagine how many chicks you could score if you took them on a date, they’d totally sploosh all over the place! Just gotta make sure I don’t get lost in the petals!”

Barely managing to ignore the resident goober horndog’s shenanigans, Johan reached the page he was looking for and closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye, a pale candle stood lit. With a flex of will, he snuffed the candle out…

Only for his eyes to snap open as he gave a hiss of pain. Mana crackled along his back as his Magic Circuits misfired, failing to form any meaningful connection to the alien land. “ _Fucking cockshit!”_ Johan swore, toppling over to one side as the mana rebounded painfully.

“What the fuck, dude,” Trent said, turning to look at his friend who had fallen to the ground.

“Tried to open m’ Circuits,” Johan hissed through gritted teeth, as the arcs of magic energy slowly subsided, “but the mana didn’t go _anywhere_.”

“That’s fucked up,” the Canuck replied, nodding as he reached down to help his friend.

Charlie then piped in, “It’s because the mana had nowhere to go. Wherever we are, our magecraft isn’t compatible with it.”

“…How the fuck does that work, Charlie? As long as we’re on Earth, there shouldn’t be any issue,” Trent said, crossing his arms as he tried to figure out just how that worked.

“What if it’s not our Earth?” the Homunculus asked in turn, his innocent inquiry causing the blond’s mouth to quirk into a frown.

As his face curved in pain, Trent was forced to admit, “That’s plausible, and I hate it.”

As the crackling mana finally subsided and Johan righted himself, still twitching, he gave a snort. “You know it’d be just our luck, too.” He looked over at Charlie and quirked an eyebrow. “Since you’re clearly the one with the most Magecraft knowledge out of us, how do we fix this?”

“We need to connect to the Earth itself, form a contract with it, in a way,” Charlie answered, scratching at his chin.

The Canadian looked at him, and was utterly dumbfounded. “How the hell is that supposed to work? Make a contract with the Earth? I don’t wanna be licking Alaya’s ass.”

Johan gave him a _look_. “Somehow, I doubt that’s how it works.”

“Guys, just shake hands with the Earth, tell it you’re cool now!” Astolfo interrupted, popping up in the middle of the group.

Trent turned his gaze to the Rider, opened his mouth and paused. “How dare you make a cogent argument.” With that, he punched his hand into the ground, making sure to dig his arm in up to his elbow as he tried to activate his circuits. Roaring, he made sure to grip a clump of dirt. “FUCK YOU EARTH, YOU STUPID BITCH LET ME USE MAGIC ON YOU!”

Silence reigned as his shout echoed, nothing seemingly happening, until a pigeon on a nearby tree branch exploded, causing the group to jerk away. Blinking at it, Trent looked at the others. “Do… do you guys think it worked?”

Johan gave him a wry look. “Only one way to find out.”

Pulling a feather out of the cage hanging off his waist and idly noting the flash of red on the back of his hand, he was about to try turning it into a familiar when a woman’s voice interrupted, “Hey, you guys seen my Master around here? I was just summoned and I need to find him.”

Wearing what looked like a black gakuran with a flowing red cloak over top, a red officer’s cap with a great golden sunburst set atop its brim upon her head, the woman grinned at them, her red eyes shining from behind her wild locks of raven hair. Putting her hands on her hips, she loudly declared, “Be grateful and awed, for you stand in the presence of the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, Nobunaga Oda! Summoned as an Archer, but that’s just a label, so who cares!”

Deciding to actually look properly at the red on the back of his hand, Trent took in his new Command Seals, a stylized skull and a pair of crossed muskets, split in half where they crossed. He then lifted his hand into the air, “I guess that’s me then. Nice to meet you.”

At the same time, Johan winced as red sparked on the back of his hand as well, settling into the vague shape of a sword with two halves of an ouroboros to either side of it. Johan looked at the Seals on the back of his hand with speculative frown. Odd that he’d already received Command Seals before he’d even made his own connection to the land…

-x-x-x-x-x-

Across the world, five other people received similar marks upon the backs of their hands.

In a hidden dimension, a pair of warriors felt the tingle of alien magic caress their souls. One gave a vicious, blood-hungry smile, while the other simply stared at the marks, confused by them as she studied them.

A harsh curse left the lips of a young man as a sudden pain caused his hand to twitch, making him lose the round of Call of Honourable Warfare Battlegrounds. His eyes streaked over to the back of his hands, the blood draining from his face at the new tattoo on one of them. There was no appreciable change in his palor from said paling.

A sword clattered to the ground as rebellious fire carved a sigil into the back of a young man’s hand. His opponent’s katana halted a hair’s breadth away from the youth’s neck, before being retracted as the man bent over his student’s hand with a mix of curiosity and concern.

In the hidden depths of Wallachia, in a castle seemingly frozen in the darkest of nights, a small, malnourished figure curled around her hand as she grit their teeth against the sudden stab of pain. Through the pain, the waifish girl started to mumble, the red light filling the room and intensifying with her every word.

When the light faded, there was a beat of silence, then a vicious laugh as steel scraped across stone.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Back on the mountainside, the Fool of Owari let out a raucous laugh as she looked over the motley before her. “Well, at least I’ll be in good company for this brief second life! A veritable cavalcade of men to share in the adventure!”

“Baller,” Trent replied, adding nothing to the conversation, but still earning a nod from the Archer.

“Speaking of adventures,” Johan commented, having paged through his grimoire for insight from the Magus who’d previously been in command of this body, “it seems that to connect to the land, it’d be best for me to be in a place noted for its connection to death. I’m not quite sure where we are, but—” 

“Death, huh? Why not just use this place? Mount Hiei’s had tons of people die on it! Hell, I even set the whole thing alight back in the day!” Nobunaga declared, dropping down into a cross-legged seat.

Johan blinked. “Well, that certainly explains why _you_ were summoned, if that’s where we are. And fair enough, you have a point about the mountain.”

“Just fist the Earth, like I did,” Trent advised, brushing dirt off his previously submerged arm. “If it worked for me, it should work for you.”

Johan scoffed. “Not all of us have thirty generations of Magecraft legacy, _founded by a Dead Apostl_ e _Ancestor no less_ , to make up for our lack of experience. The motherfucker who was in this body before was a first generation Magus; the only reason he was noteworthy at all is because fucking _nobody_ uses ectomancy.”

The blond lifted a finger as he adjusted the neck of his shirt, about to point out how wrong he was, before stopping. His mouth twisted into a frown, and then he declared, “How dare you bring facts and logic into this discussion about magical horseshit.”

Johan snorted as he closed his eyes and carefully brought up the image of his trigger again. “You’re just salty that you’re the product of a thousand years of selective inbreeding, nepotism, and Randian hubris. Now shut up, I’m trying to coax the local ghost cummies into being my Minecraft Creative Mode.”

“How dare you completely identify exactly why I hate the facts and logic you brought to the table, I hate the fact that I could fit into Naruto,” Trent grumbled, pouting as Nobunaga let out another laugh, giving him a slap on the shoulder.

Johan gave a wry smile as he sank deeper into a trance. This time, rather than pinching out the flickering flame at the end of the candle, he pictured cupping it in his hands and blew on it, sparks reaching out into the dark. For a time, the sparks did nothing but flicker and die, snuffed out for the lack of fuel, but he remained patient.

After about five minutes, though, his patience was rewarded. With a crackling hiss, a spark took, briefly burning in the vaguest suggestion of a human skull, before guttering out into smoke.

Johan opened his eyes as his Magic Circuits hummed to life, flaming ice tracing its way across his spine, the phantom sensation of simultaneous frostbite and scalding burns almost _comforting_ by comparison to the gnawing absence that it replaced.

He rubbed his shoulder and popped a kink out of his neck as he rose. “Well, that’s done. Think we ought to get down off this mountain and see if there’s actual civilization down there? If I’m remembering my weebshit correctly, Kyoto’s nearish to Mt. Hiei…”

“Indeed, it is! Come, let us go and crash into the capital, feast and drink until we’re merrily full! And in the morning, we’ll find just which war we’re to fight!” Nobunaga roared, grinning from ear to ear as she pointed down at the fields of cherry blossoms below.

Trent threw up the horns, and got to his feet, doing a small stretch. “Sounds like a goddamn party… but none of us have any money that’ll be accepted. Or clothes that won’t make you stick out like a sore thumb.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes? They’re chic for warlords, I’ll have you know,” the Archer declared, using her arms to toss her cloak up so it billowed magnificently. “Even the greatest of Heroic Spirits will recognize the sheer majesty of position through them!”

Astolfo flounced over to her, and remarked, “Well, that’s pretty great, but doesn’t that just make you a big target for Assassins? Oh, maybe that’s why Charlemagne dressed up like us, so he wouldn’t get caught out by Assassins…”

Nobunaga’s mouth hung open for a few moments, and then she shrugged as she laughed, “Mayhaps! Mayhaps, but I was never one to shirk away from such threats! Indeed, I would welcome them with open arms, so that I might live my fifty years to the fullest!”

“You’re a weird one, huh?” Astolfo asked in turn, laughing along with the Archer.

“They don’t call me the Fool of Owari for nothing!” she boasted, planting her hands on her hips, throwing her chest forward, and laughing even more boisterously.

Behind them, Charlie’s head tilted to the side as he took in the scene, unable to put his thumb on exactly why it unsettled him.

-x-x-x-

The group eventually managed to walk to Kyoto, with Trent, Nobunaga and Astolfo acting to cajole the other two along. After some finagling at a bank, as well as technically committing crimes at a few different pawn shops, they managed to get enough money to rent a room at a hotel, and chose one Omiya Inn.

They had decided to rotate through the bath, with Nobunaga going first, Trent and Johan second, and Charlie and Astolfo third. With the final two in the bath, the others had started to plan.

Sitting by the table in the room they’d rented, Trent allowed himself to relax slightly. “Well, at least we’ve got a room for the foreseeable future.”

Johan was busy studying a pamphlet for the inn. “Huh. Apparently this is the place Ryoma Sakamoto was assassinated…” He shrugged. “As good a catalyst as any, really.”

“Hm, the ambassador, is it? A good enough choice, even if he was a ronin with no heads to his name,” Nobu remarked, leaning against one of the walls as she watched the two. “Still, he had the right idea, trying to open the islands up!”

“He can hang, if he wants to, I got no qualms with him,” the Canadian remarked, idly tracing a pattern on the table. “Although, I would note that I do only really care about him because Kiryu portrayed him.”

Johan snorted, then made a vague gesture towards a bare corner of the room. A translucent tendril of ectoplasm began carving a magic circle into the wooded floor. “That settles it, then. From all accounts, the man had a solid head on his shoulders, _something I’m sure we’ll be needing._ ” This last was said without any real malice, and the way Nobu merely laughed boisterously without denying it said it all, really. Trent nodded, knowing that they probably needed a proper minder with both Jekyll and Carmilla gone.

Johan shook his head fondly as the magic circle was finished and the ectoplasm settled into its grooves. As naturally as breathing, words came to his lips.

_"Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall."_

As the circle started to glow, Astolfo’s voice picked up outside the door, seemingly chattering away at someone or something. Trent didn’t really pay it any mind as he kept his eye on the ritual, confident in the paladin’s ability to confound whoever he spoke to.

_"Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate. Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword."_

An unfamiliar voice could be heard debating with the Servant, sounding quite fervent. It even got to the point that Charlie had joined in on the loud voices, causing Nobunaga to narrow her eyes at the door.

_"Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth. An oath shall be sworn here. I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven; I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell."_

There was a jostling outside, the door shaking slightly as if someone had collided with it, and a musket flashed into existence in Nobunaga’s hand, carefully aimed at the door. Having noticed the shift in his Servant’s stance, Trent had pulled a number of feathers into his hand, ready to launch them at whoever might be trying to break in.

_"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!"_

As the summoning reached its climax, a number of things happened at once.

First, a pair of forms coalesced in the center of the circle; one a man, standing at attention, clad in a pale white suit and hat with a katana and a handgun at his left hip; the other a woman, floating lazily behind him, shrouded in a coal black seifuku with not a weapon to be seen, though a dark fire burned in her narrowed gaze.

Second, as Ryoma Sakamoto opened his mouth to introduce himself, the door to the room burst open, slamming into the wall as Astolfo and Charlie practically fell over one another into the space it had occupied to make room for the unknown figure in front of them.

And third, the squat crow Tengu in the doorway straightened his clothes, took in the scene and opened his beak to say something.

Naturally, that was when Trent threw his feathers with a loud, cawing “SKRAAAAW!”

The Tengu spared the pinion projectiles but a moment’s glance, and that was sufficient. The black feathers halted in midair, and even as the Tengu’s gaze drifted away from them, the feathers fell to pieces. The bird-headed man’s eyes swept the room, ending squarely on the musket pointed between his eyes – or rather, the unusually serious-faced woman holding the weapon.

“I will graciously forgive your attack upon my person this once,” the Tengu said thinly, “as it is apparent that you struck first out of concern for your comrades, rather than out of malice.”

He folded his feathered arms and then proclaimed, “I, Jirobo of the Hira Mountains, stand before you in my role as adjutant to Her Radiance Lady Yasaka, stewardess of Reverse Kyoto.” His gaze strayed from Nobunaga for the barest of moments, flickering between the other occupants of the room and fixing on the woman floating behind Ryoma for a moment. “It is not often that we receive guests of such…” Jirobo seemed to search for a descriptor for a moment. “Such _commanding presence,_ shall we say. My Lady wishes to extend an invitation to meet with her, should they be willing to accept it.”

The look in the Tengu’s obsidian eyes made it plainly clear that this “invitation” was nothing of the sort, and based on the furious frown that was rapidly darkening Archer’s face, she was none too pleased by that.

Before Nobunaga could enact a national incident, a calm voice cut through the air. “Am I to understand that your Lady is offering our party the rights of hospitality, should we accept her invitation?”

A genial smile decorated Ryoma Sakamoto’s face as he asked the question of Jirobo, but his eyes were as sharp and steely as any blade. The Tengu regarded the Rider-class Servant for a long moment, then gave a nod. “On the name of my mountain home and the names of my ancestors, I do swear that you and yours will be afforded guest rights until such a time as you relinquish them, willingly or through violent action.”

Ryoma held Jirobo’s gaze for a long moment, then closed his eyes and gave a nod. The Hero of the Meiji Restoration then turned to regard his new allies, his gaze landing on Johan last. He rubbed the back of his head and gave a sheepish chuckle. “If I was out of line, I apologise, but it seemed like things were about to go... _poorly_.” Ryoma gave a weak shrug.

Archer looked over at the new Rider, her scowl still present. After a moment, though, Nobu sighed and lowered her musket. A rueful smirk replaced the mask of wrath that had adorned her face mere moments before. “As expected of the ambassador; you’ve been here only moments and already you’ve got an eye for the room.” Nobunaga shook her head and let out a boisterous laugh. “Very well! Let it never be said that the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven doesn’t know when to listen to experts! Lead on, birdman!” This last she directed at Jirobo, who seemed to be caught between bemusement and appalled wonder.

The woman floating behind Ryoma took that opportunity to speak up, drifting lazily around her partner. “Oryou wonders if birdmen are good to eat…”

From the look on the Tengu’s face, _that_ firmly settled Jirobo’s emotions in the direction of being appalled. Obviously, one thing was clear to him now: the sooner the Tengu got these people to Lady Yasaka, the better it would be for his sanity...and perhaps his safety, as well.


	2. Chapter Two: Kyoto, Yours and Mine

Chapter Two: Kyoto, Yours and Mine

Not long after agreeing to follow Jirobo, our intrepid heroes found themselves sitting across from the so-called leader of the mystic side of Kyoto: a blonde woman with nine fox tails and a pair of big stonking tits that were actively fighting against the kimono she was wearing. She was looking over them with a half-lidded gaze, her hands clasped before her on the table, her tea untouched. Her small, circular eyebrows were drawn close to each other as she gave a small bow. “Greetings to you, strangers in my Kyoto. Normally, your actions would have necessitated a more… extreme response, but given the nature of your cohort, I believe that negotiation would benefit all of us far more.”

Before Astolfo could say anything, Charlie instinctively clapped his hand over the pinket’s mouth.

“Your Kyoto? I burnt Mount Hiei and all those on it, if this isn’t still my Kyoto, then I’m going to be very cross,” Nobunaga immediately replied, her arms crossed, much like her legs.

Trent reached over and nudged her shoulder as he reminded, “No, no, you died, that means it isn’t yours anymore.”

“Oh right, fair enough. You can have Kyoto then. At least for now,” the warlord declared, nodding firmly.

“While your banter is sure to entertain, this is hardly the place for such frivolity,” the kitsune interjected, her eyes locking onto the Archer. “If you might give this meeting a modicum of gravity, I would appreciate it.”

Before Nobu could retort and cause further trouble, Ryoma cut in, “Please, Lord Nobunaga. As we will no doubt leave matters of war and the battlefield to one as experienced as you, I ask that you leave things of peacetime and diplomacy to one as experienced as me.”

Even as he spoke, his right hand snaked up to tug at the red scarf trailing from his floating dragon wife’s neck, pulling her down to his level as she pouted. She was still floating a few inches off the ground, but at least she  _ appeared _ to be seated at the table now.

“Bah, you say that I know nothing of diplomacy, but I know it right and proper!” Archer complained, shooting a sour look at the man. Rather than take the argument any further, she just collapsed on her back. “But, I’ll leave the job to you if you want it. Far be it from me to deny someone their desires...unless they clash with mine, of course.”

Ryoma gave a slight shake of his head and a wry smile, then returned his attention to Yasaka and inclined his head. “My apologies. Now, in the interest of fairness and expediency, what say we put our cards on the table, as it were?”

“What would you mean by that?” the kitsune inquired, her intent stare fixed upon the Rider.

Ryoma folded his hands on the table and leaned in intently, his white hat shading his eyes. He took a breath, reviewing the information his Master had relayed to him telepathically on the way there. “Put plainly, my…  _ associates—” _ he gestured to Johan, Trent, and Charlie, “—are not in the right place. Due to certain… _ complications _ of an arcane nature, they ended up on Mt. Hiei, not of their own intention but purely as a matter of chance.”

“Then I’m sure you understand just why we were so alarmed by not just their sudden appearance, but their rampant use of strange magics, summoning you, that dragon, and whatever travesty that thing you call Nobunaga is,” Yasaka declared, her hands balling into fists as she narrowed her eyes at the diplomat. “And on top of that, they went out of their way to essentially bait mundanes by pawning counterfeit items.”

At this, Johan winced, then offered, “Okay, that was wrong, and I said as much when we did it. And this might not make up for it, but I fully intended to pay those merchants back as soon as we found stable footing in this world… “ Johan trailed off, then palmed his face as he realized what he’d just let slip.

The blonde’s gaze turned to him, a single eyebrow quirked up as her knuckles knocked against the expensive table they were seated at. Before she could say anything, Trent cut in and reprimanded him. “C’mon Johan, why’d you go and tell her that? We were supposed to keep that under wraps. This is definitely worse than my entrance in Trifas.”

“Debatable,” Johan shot back, then continued, “but I’ll admit my mistake. Turns out getting thrown across space and time, subsequently being party to magical fraud, and finally being brought to meet someone as terrifyingly powerful as  _ her _ ,” he inclined his head at Yasaka, “rattles the nerves.”

He then turned to the woman in question and added, “No offense meant.”

Before she could answer, Trent immediately retorted, “And now you’re trying to butter up our host. You and I both know that while she’s powerful, she’s nowhere near as bone chillingly powerful as Karna was. Or Adam. Or that fucking thing that came out of the hole in reality that dragged us here.” The blond turned to their host and also inclined his head. “No offense meant, but we’ve met some really horseshit strong people.”

“Both of you, please.” Ryoma interjected as Johan opened his mouth to retort. “There is a time and a place for self-recrimination and reflection, and the negotiating table is decidedly  _ not _ that place.”

“You’re too stuffy, diplomat!” Nobunaga cheered, having rocked herself into a sitting position so she could slap her knee as she laughed. “This is the sort of thing that’s necessary to build true bonds! Besides, from the smile on our hostess’s face, she appreciates it too! In cases like this, it can’t be helped!”

The others whipped their heads around to look at Yasaka, but she had one of her hands up in front of her face, the sleeve of her kimono hiding her expression perfectly. She let out a sound that was far too refined to be a cough, and declared, “Perhaps it would be better if you explained just what you mean by not being from this world, as well as what you and that supposed warlord are.”

The Rider opened his mouth to respond, and was cut off by Trent. “We got launched out of our universe by accident. Some demon jumped out of a hole in space-time, and we only had one escape, which was the space-time hole. We landed on Mount Hiei.”

“That is… quite the tale,” the kitsune replied, her ears twitching as she weighed every word. Her gaze drifted over to the Servants as she judged them silently. “And just what about you all? You are not humans, nor are you any sort of youkai. Neither are you gods or any other kind of supernatural entity that I recognize.”

“Oryou is Oryou,” Oryou helpfully provided, floating slightly up and then tilting over to one side as she overbalanced. “She came along with Ryoma so he doesn’t get lonely.”

Yasaka stared at the woman blandly, and then remarked, “While I’m thankful for your input, I’m quite capable of recognizing dragons, Miss Oryou.” As she finished, she used her free hand to reach out and push a bowl of rice crackers towards the dragon.

Oryou glanced at the bowl, then picked up the entire bowl and took a bite out of it, splinters of wood mixing with crumbs of dried cracker as the loudest  _ cronch _ anyone present had ever heard echoed through the room.

The kitsune stared at the bowl for a moment, and then nodded. “I will have an attendant bring another bowl.”

After swallowing a mouthful of mulch and rice bits, Oryou replied, “No, no. Oryou only needs one bowl; she’s watching her figure. She can’t catch frogs when she’s bloated, after all.”

“Of course, I understand, Miss Oryou,” Yasaka remarked, nodding as she gestured towards her other guests. “But, while there’s one bowl for you, we need one for the others.”

Oryou made an  _ “ohhh” _ of understanding before taking another loud bite out of the bowl.

Ryoma covered his face with his hat for a moment. No sound escaped the confines of its brim, but somehow it was abundantly clear that he had screamed into it. Everyone else politely feigned ignorance, of course. Except Trent and Nobu, because they were terrible and shared a high five, and Oryou because she was distracted by her dubious meal.

After the Rider had collected himself, he spoke. “My dearest partner’s antics aside, I believe you wished to know what we,” he waved a hand between Archer and himself, “are?” At Yasaka’s nod, he continued. “As you might suspect, Lord Nobunaga is, indeed, Nobunaga Oda, the Sengoku warlord and self-proclaimed Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, summoned as an Archer.” As she was introduced, the Archer lazily lifted one hand and wiggled her fingers cattily. Ignoring his ally’s antics, Ryoma pressed his hat to his chest and gave a seated bow. “I am Ryoma Sakamoto, called forth under the Rider class.” 

Yasaka nodded, her eyes drifting closed as she lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip. After swallowing and putting her drink down, she remarked, “While I appreciate the clarification, I must admit that I do not understand just how the two of you could be present, given your age and the fact that both of you are dead. And one of you is now apparently a woman.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for Kenshin, but not me?” Nobunaga asked rhetorically, smirking at the kitsune.

Ryoma pointedly ignored Archer's comment, offering Yasaka an apologetic smile. “As to the former question, the answer is relatively simple. We are Servants, reproductions of legendary figures from across history, drawn from a metaphysical vault beyond time and space and given form by the Holy Grail.” While Yasaka was still processing his explanation, he added, “As for the second, that is merely as a result of differences between our worlds.”

“The Holy Grail, is it?” the kitsune asked, her smile somewhat brittle around the edges. “By that, you mean the chalice of the Biblical God, yes?”

“Don’t worry about it, when we use the term Holy Grail, nine times out of ten, it’s just a lump of magical energy that people use as a catalyst to summon Heroic Spirits. It’s almost never an actual item,” Trent interjected, waving a hand at the idea of them actually fighting over something like the proper Holy Grail.

“Aye, magi where we’re from have a tendency to name things ostentatiously,” Johan added.

Yasaka nodded, her expression shifting to a more placid one. “That is reassuring, as it would have been an issue were the Sephiroth Graal to be involved in this situation.”

Johan arched an eyebrow. “That’s not a name I’ve ever heard the Holy Grail referred to as. Is there some significance to the Grail in this world we’re not aware of?”

“The Sephiroth Graal, or the Holy Grail as you call it, is one of the thirteen Longini,” the blonde explained, clasping her hands in front of her once more. “It is an incredibly powerful item, capable of summoning souls from the realm of the dead, as well as manipulating them without real limit.”

“Oh nice, the Heaven’s Feel,” Trent declared, nodding as he flashed the kitsune a thumbs up. “And to clarify, it’s a magic from our world that does the same thing.” He then stopped, his hand shifting up as if to halt her as he asked, “Now, you said that there are  _ thirteen _ Longini. That’s hella wild compared to our world.”

The kitsune nodded, her eyes closing as her hands came up, fully prepared to give them a full rundown on the items in question.

-x-x-x-

Once their respective explanations were finished, the groups were set in a quiet stalemate, simply observing each other.

Oryou was the first to break the silence, letting out a snore, as she’d fallen asleep after the second Longinus had been described and only briefly stirred when the two with dragons sealed in them were mentioned.

After his outlandish wife utterly ruined the tension that had been building, Ryoma sighed and tented his hands in front of him. “Begging your pardon for the presumption, Miss Yasaka, but I will be frank: none of us hold any hostility towards you and yours, and I think we can agree that conflict between our parties would benefit nobody. Therefore, I propose that we form an alliance, or at the very least have a non-aggression agreement.”

“Currently, I believe that a mutual non-aggression agreement would be the best course of action,” the kitsune agreed, dipping her head as her nails gently played across the surface of her teacup. “More than that, an out and out alliance could be misinterpreted by many and cause problems in the long run. What sort of terms do you suggest?”

Ryoma tapped his fingers together. “To begin with, the standard ‘do no harm to one another, save for defending ourselves from clear aggression from the other party’ seems a reasonable base. Beyond that…” He hummed in thought. “If you can provide us with a basic residence and footing in Kyoto, we can trade our services to pay back both the money that was wrongfully obtained as well as rent for such a residence. Not an alliance, merely a business agreement, so to speak.”

“That would be… acceptable,” Yasaka declared, her shoulders relaxing as her hands released her teacup and folded her hands.

Trent nodded, looking around the room with clear pride, before meeting Nobu’s eyes and sharing a thumbs up as she joined him in nodding. They were incredibly proud of this development, they managed not cock everything up for the group at large. Charlie and Astolfo were off to the side, the pinket happily whispering his Master’s ear off with tales of his fellow paladins. Johan, for his part, was just glad that he’d summoned a Servant capable of at least marginally wrangling the fucking lunatics that made up his companions...even if he brought yet another brand of lunacy along with him.

Speaking of that particular headache in the making, Oryou had finally woken up again and was now floating lazily behind Ryoma, munching noisily on the last fragments of the wooden bowl.

It was at that point that the door slammed open, a little girl with fox ears and a tail charging in as she cried, “Mama! I finished my homework, play with me!”

Yasaka was about to bow and apologize for the interruption, when Astolfo surged to his feet, bellowing, “Fear me, child! For I am Astolfogon the Extinguinator! And I shall punish all the bad children who interrupt important meetings with the greatest punishment there is!” His hands came up, his fingers wiggling menacingly. “My Supreme Tickling Terror Time shall descend upon you!”

The child shrieked good naturedly as she spun on her heel and dove out of view, the Rider following after her trailing laughter in his wake. Yasaka’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to say anything.

It was at that point that Trent remarked, “Don’t worry, he’s great with kids. He’s been looking after our week old son for the entire meeting.”

As one, Johan, Charlie, and Ryoma let out a long-suffering sigh.

Far away, in another world, one Kairi Shishigo had the inexplicable urge to do the same.


	3. Chapter Three: Ass, Vice-Ass and the Demon King

Chapter Three: Ass, Vice-Ass and the Demon King

After the gang’s meeting with Yasaka had concluded, the kitsune called Jirobo, the tengu who’d brought them before her, to show them to some proper accommodations. The stocky, crow-headed man had acquiesced, of course, but when they’d left Yasaka’s sight Jirobo had shot Trent a gimlet eye and ruffled his feathers discontentedly. 

In reply, the blond quirked one of his brows skyward and inquired, “What’s with the stink eye, Jiro-boya?”

The crow tengu let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a caw, then flapped a wing disdainfully. “It is not my place to question Her Grace, of course, but I cannot help but be in awe of her... _ generosity _ .” His eye flickered to consider Nobunaga, then Oryou, and after a moment he continued, “Though I suppose harboring a few magicians of... _ questionable _ character is preferable, considering the alternative…” 

Archer’s eyes settled on the tengu, the dull crimson burning into him, before turning her eyes forward, dismissing him.

Oryou gave a slow blink, then bared her teeth in what was decidedly  _ not _ a friendly grin, but rather a flash of fangs.

Jirobo’s feathers puffed as he shuddered, and he let out a much shakier, cawing scoff, and continued walking. Barely audible, the crow tengu muttered, “Demon Kings and Dragons...what’s Kyoto coming too?”

“Could be worse, Jiro-boya,” Trent remarked, his hands in his pockets as he allowed his face to relax into a smile. “The Three Great Calamities could come back for a reunion tour.”

“God, Trent,” Johan groaned, “don’t say that; you’ll jinx us.”

Nobunaga let out a bark, her mouth pulled into a savage grin. “Then let them come! They’ll be a good test of the power of this world!”

“Now, while I don’t exactly endorse Nobu’s fight-picking, I do understand the meaning behind her words: we can’t just try and run and hide from this world,” the Canadian declared, nodding a few times.

Johan massaged his temples. “I’m not encouraging shoving our heads in the sand and pretending ignorance, I’m just advocating for a more... _ measured _ approach.” He sighed. “If...no,  _ when _ the time comes that we must fight, then fight we will, but why not  _ build  _ bridges rather than burn them?”

Though Johan’s Servant did not speak for or against his Master’s words, he did give a nod of approval at the sentiment the albino had expressed.

“Ain’t nobody said anything about burning bridges,” Trent replied, shaking his head. “And let’s face it, you and I tend not to have the best of luck with ‘measured’.”

_ “Speak for yourself, Herr Bird Race War,” _ Johan shot back with a twitching eyebrow. “And as for burning bridges…” He turned to consider Nobu for a moment, then heaved a sigh and shook his head.

“You and I both know that was an accident! I didn’t mean for it to go that far out of control!” the blond cried, looking utterly betrayed. At his side, his Servant let out another laugh, her eyes wide with wonder. Pointing at his friend, he added, “Besides, I’ve been doing a lot better since then! Look at how Carmy and I killed that stupid bitch Celenike! Or how I saved Charlie from Gordes!”

“But Trent, you didn’t do anything to stop my stupid bitch of a former Master! All you did was stand around and watch the battle between everyone and Adam!” Astolfo interjected, flouncing into the middle of the group, his new friend Kunou held under his arm.

Behind the Servant, Charlie sighed as he tried to free the princess of Kyoto, shaking his head. “Also, um, you have to admit that anyone would be terrified of you if you turned your upper body into a bird’s.”

The blond sighed, his head falling as his shoulders dropped. “Charlie, you can’t just say that. Jiro-boya’s  _ right _ here. I know you’re only a week old, but we’re going to have to teach you about racism and how not to be a racist.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” the homunculus declared, looking over at the tengu as he tried to apologize.

Jirobo glanced at Charlie, gave a snort and looked away, shaking his head. He didn’t get paid enough for this shit.

-x-x-x-

Conversation had halted once Jirobo elected to stop entertaining the group’s quips. So it was that they were led to their accommodations in an awkward silence, pausing only once when Charlie convinced Astolfo to let Kunou run off.

Sitting in the common room between their own private rooms, the seven glanced between one another as they quietly allowed the silence to marinate. After a short while, Ryoma was the one to break the silence. “So. This Grail War that Oryou, Lord Nobunaga, and myself have been summoned into seems to be, shall we say,  _ abnormal _ .” He glanced between Trent, Johan, and Charlie, before scrutinizing Astolfo and finally letting out a sigh. “Though our identities are known to one another, I think it would be wise to solidify our... _ alliance _ , through an exchange of information.”

He cleared his throat. “I am Ryoma Sakamoto, Rider Class.” He gestured to the woman floating beside him. “This is my partner and the sealed form of my Noble Phantasm, Oryou.”

Oryou wiggled in the air, her face remaining placid as she held up two peace signs. “Peace, peace,” she drawled, before continuing, “Oryou is Oryou. She’s here to keep Ryoma out of trouble. She will also accept tribute in the form of frogs.”

“Ooh, ooh, me next!” Astolfo declared, hand thrust into the air as he waved it around. “I’m Astolfo, one of Charlemagne’s Paladins, and I’m a Rider too!” He reached over and pulled Charlie into a crushing side hug. “This is Charlie, he’s my Master, and he’s only a week old!”

Charlie mouthed  _ ‘help’ _ to Trent, but was ignored, so he sighed and offered, “I’m Charlie, a homunculus. Astolfo contracted with me in another Grail War and I incarnated him with my Command Seals.” He rolled his eyes. “And yes, I’m only a week old.”

Johan waved a hand. “I’m Johan Lewis. I got transplanted into some magus’ body and inherited his circuits and magecraft, and now I’m an ectomancer. I was the Master of Berserker: Dr. Henry Jekyll in the same war that Astolfo was in.” He gave a nod to Ryoma. “Thank you for answering my summons; I hope we will have a fruitful partnership.”

Ryoma returned the nod, and Oryou gave another wiggle.

“I’m Trent Blackmore, and I was lucky enough to get shoved into a magus who shares my name and features. I’ve since committed bloodline theft and what are probably more than a few different crimes, and adopted Charlie,” the blond remarked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I was the Master of Assassin in the Grand Grail War we took part in. My Assassin, Charlie’s other parent, was Carmilla.”

“Ha, not to worry, Master! With me by your side, we’ll be able to get through anything that comes our way!” Archer roared, slapping her knee as she grinned over the group. “I need to introduce myself? It can’t be helped! I’m Nobunaga Oda, summoned in the Archer class, though I won’t let something as simple as the Class system hold me back!”

Looking around the room, she lifted up a hand with the fingers curled inward like claws, and asked, “Now answer me, what are we doing here? What are we to be doing? This Demon King of the Sixth Heaven can’t wait to hear it!”

“Does this place have Uno?” Trent asked, looking around the room. “Maybe playing some games will help us get to know each other. This isn’t like when I summoned Carmy and we got to bond over a dead hooker.”

Johan made a face at that, but got out of his chair and started rummaging in drawers. After a while, he came up with a standard deck of playing cards. “No Uno, but we can do Go Fish or Old Maid or something.”

“…Johan, you know there’s only one game we can play,” the blond declared dramatically. “We gotta play President.”

Johan cocked his head. “I don’t know that game.”

“Oh, you mean the English name of  _ Daifugo _ ,” Archer interjected, smiling as she considered the deck. “Well, if you want to play, I’d be game! Even if we use the Western titles, it’ll be great fun!”

“Wait, so how does this game work?” Charlie asked, blinking at the sudden enthusiasm that Nobu was exhibiting.

“Basically, we play the card game to determine who’s the President, Vice-President, Neutral, Vice-Ass and Ass!” Astolfo cheered, the deck somehow having teleported into his hands as he started shuffling. “The goal is to be the first person to run out of cards! Jokers are the highest, followed by twos, and then aces! Everything after that is the usual order! Also, you can put cards of the same value down as pairs, trios or quartets!”

Trent opened his mouth, then closed it, his brow furrowing. “That’s… actually surprisingly accurate. Astolfo, why are you being sensible?”

“I don’t know!” the pinket replied, puffing his chest out in misplaced pride.

Charlie held up his hand, and then looked at the married couple who were watching them in amusement. “I’m… sorry about them, you get used to it.”

Ryoma chuckled wryly. “Oh, don’t worry. I think I can handle myself.” He glanced at his levitating dragon waifu, who’d by this time made a half-revolution and was now giving double peace signs…upside down.

Oryou, for her part, commented, “When Oryou wins, she wants a bowl of frogs.”

-x-x-x-

Despite eating most of the cards, Oryou somehow won, which led to Trent and Johan standing outside, practicing their magecraft.

Because, as the Ass and Vice-Ass respectively, it was their job to get her frogs for her.

With a snap of his wrist, Trent turned a pair of feathers into a bird, sending it careening into the air with a squawk. As it took to the skies, small sparks crackled between the ends of its feathers and joined a small squadron of its brethren, cawing as they went in search of their prey.

Gazing into the skies, the blond hummed. “I can only hope that this doesn’t end anywhere near as badly as the last time I sent out a whole lot of birds.”

Johan grimaced. “If a bird war ends up on the news, it’s your fault.” He clasped his hands together, then spread them apart, ectoplasm dripping between them like bubble fluid, if bubble fluid had skull-like faces dotted through it. The filmy curtain ectoplasm split into six, each of the fragments molding into small, ghostly forms. Each of them turned nearly transparent and drifted in different directions, questing in the dark of Kyoto for their amphibian prizes.

“Nothing to do now but wait,” Johan commented, plopping down on a bench and cracking his grimoire open. “In the meantime,  _ I’m _ going to take this opportunity to learn more about what I should be able to do.” A gesture pulled a small mass of ectoplasm from the ground, which formed into an orb and floated beside Johan as he molded it with one hand and turned pages with another.

Flicking a feather between his fingers and causing it to grow into the shape of a thin blade, Trent muttered, “If a bird war happens, Yasaka’s gonna kick our asses to kingdom come.”

Johan snorted, making a series of vague gestures with his free hand that made the bubble of ectoplasm quiver, then morph first into a jagged arrowhead then into a leaf-like blade. “I’d question your use of ‘we’, but I know all too well that I’ll be dragged into your messes whether I like it or not.”

“No matter how we slice it,” the blond murmured, swinging the blade through the air and marvelling at the seeming effectiveness. “If one of us cocks up, it’s still going to reflect poorly on the rest, and likely have consequences on the group at large. Kind of why I haven’t been going as hard as I usually do.”

Johan sighed, then made a fist, the ectoplasm compressing into a tiny, dense sphere. “And I  _ do _ appreciate that, even if I probably haven’t been showing it all that well.” He rolled his wrist, the ghostly fluid dropping down onto his hand and morphing into a filmy glove, then a dull silver gauntlet as he flexed his fingers. “I just hope that we get a chance to get our feet under us before we have to fight again.”

“Quite,” Trent agreed, allowing his blade to return to its usual feather form. “Though, I think that our best bet for doing that will be keeping Nobu occupied, lest she summon the mini-Nobus.”

Johan shuddered, letting the ectoplasm lose its shape and dissipate back into the ether. “We  _ definitely _ don’t want that. Best we keep her occupied, then.”

“Why not see about getting her a job or something? It’d keep her busy and help pay back those people we ripped off with magecraft!” Astolfo declared, thrusting himself into their conversation as he jumped onto Johan’s shoulders, causing the man to start in surprise and nearly topple out of his seat.

“Christ alive, nearly gave me a heart attack,” Johan grumbled, straightening in his seat and pointedly ignoring the warm, soft thighs pressing onto either side of his neck. “As for your idea, Astolfo, I genuinely can’t tell if it’s genius or lunacy, and that worries me.”

“Honestly, it might actually work, at least in the short term,” Trent said, his brows furrowing as he scratched at his chin. “While Nobu’s flighty, it would at least keep her somewhat busy while we get ourselves situated.”

Astolfo nodded his head, sending his braid flailing as he declared, “Ha, I’m a genius!”

-x-x-x-x-x-

_ “And we’re coming to you live from the McDongalds on Sanjou Street in Kyoto, where what seems to be a sentient mass of ice cream is raging through the store, one employee seemingly having built a flamethrower to combat the threat.” _

Astolfo stared at the television with an expression of appalled amusement. “Oh no…”

“One day, all it took was  _ one day _ , and she caused this much mayhem,” Trent muttered, having looked away from the assignment that he was helping Kunou with.

Johan, for his part, had already picked up the landline and called their ‘handler’. Jirobo was  _ distinctly _ displeased to hear from them so soon, but everyone could agree on one thing:

The Demon King was  _ not _ suited to being a part-timer.


	4. Chapter Four: Flame and Thunder

Chapter Four: Flame and Thunder

The second meeting took place in Yasaka’s own abode instead of the meeting hall which had served as the first venue. The primary differences boiled down to less space, and also less decoration – the place was austere, solemn, but also not evidently poor. From the fine woods used to build the low table they sat at, to the wonderful cast and glaze of the tea set they were using.

Yasaka sat on one side of the table, her tea steaming as it sat before her untouched. Her hands were clasped on her lap, eyes narrowed and tails utterly still.

Across from her were Trent and Nobunaga, the former with his forehead pressed against the ground and one hand on the back of his Servant’s skull. The Archer was sitting cross-legged, staring the kitsune down while casually ignoring the hand trying to unite her face with the flooring.

Astolfo was conspicuously absent, having left to go see various famous sites with Charlie before Yasaka arrived.

The kitsune’s eyes slid from the bowing man over to the Heroic Spirit, her mouth a thin line. “Have you no shame at all? No sense of propriety or reason? Your actions earlier this day added a good deal of work not just to myself, but to Lord Omoikane as well.” Her finely manicured nails unclasped as she reached out and carefully wrapped her fingers around her cup.

“No shame, no,” Nobu answered as she reached back and poked her Master in the armpit, causing him to jerk his arm back to his side. Putting her hands down on her knees, she met Yasaka’s eyes, her mouth splitting into a wry smile. “In my life of fifty years, I’ve not had an ounce of shame, propriety, nor reason, else they might not have called me the Fool of Owari.” Taking a sip of her drink, she tilted head to the side as she studied the kitsune.

“And you speak to me of your workload, and that of Omoikane, but I’ll not apologize for your attempts to control human culture and society.”

Yasaka’s ears twitched and one of her small eyebrows rose. “ _ Control? _ You misunderstand; the reason we keep the Moonlit World separate from the mundane world is not to control humanity, but in fact the opposite. The gods may yet live, but they have acknowledged that humanity must be allowed to grow on its own, not subordinate to the whims of the divine.” She swirled her tea, and took a sip. “Of course, there are those who resent this stance, as ever. Those who cling to their fading power, those who despise humanity for its imperfections, those who wish to be free to mingle among humans without constraint…” The kitsune closed her eyes and set her cup down. “Man, god, or youkai, there will always be those who resent change and cling to tradition.”

“Ah? Then what do you call deciding just what it is that they can and can’t know about? Isn’t that controlling them?” Nobunaga inquired, her expression tightening into a mask of stoicism. “My own beliefs are simple: let humanity grow and decide its own course without the intervention of gods or buddhas. Let them be observed, but not relied upon.” The Archer leaned forward, resting an elbow upon the table, and her face in that hand.

Beside her, Trent had just folded himself into a seated position, shaking his head as the discussion picked up without him.

Yasaka acknowledged the warlord’s point with a slight inclination of the head, then replied, “In an ideal world, such a thing would indeed be desirable: humans, spirits, and deities, all free to pursue their own growth as they desire.” Her countenance darkened. “But the world as it is now is not so kind. The Abrahamic factions teeter between a tense peace and the brink of war, and half a dozen gods from different pantheons all scheme one thing or another without care for how it would affect humans  _ or _ spirits such as yokai.” 

Slowly, carefully, the tension bled from the kitsune’s face and her placid, diplomatic calm returned. She took another sip of tea, eyes peering into the liquid but gaze miles away. “The point I am trying to make is that while humanity may well be able to handle knowledge of the supernatural, there are those among the supernatural who would take a broken masquerade as carte blanche to do as they please. The masquerade was chosen by gods, spirits,  _ and  _ humans as the best way to ensure the prosperity of all races.”

“And now, here you are, ensuring that humanity is kept unawares, unready, and unprepared,” Archer remarked candidly, uncaring for how her statement was taken. Her crimson glare pierced the bits of steam attempting to cloud her view of Yasaka. “I’m not blaming you, but you have to admit that this masquerade of yours has grown to the point of hurting their ability to comprehend what truly is happening around them.”

Yasaka paused, set down her cup of tea, and sighed into her sleeve. “I cannot disagree with you, truly. That said, breaking the masquerade abruptly and with no preparation would cause chaos among the public, to say nothing of those ill-contented or malicious enough to take advantage of that unrest to do as they please.” 

The kitsune folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin, meeting Nobunaga’s glare with a calm, yet implacable gaze of her own. “Keeping mankind ignorant gives me no joy at all, but the simple fact of the matter is that the majority of humans do not possess nearly the level of power that your compatriots do. From the perspective of the one given the responsibility to watch over the denizens of Kyoto, both mystic and mundane, the masquerade does more good than harm for the purposes of peace and coexistence.

“And from the perspective of a  _ mother _ ,” Yasaka added, her eyes brightening with protectiveness, “I would much rather raise my daughter in a time of peace, however tenuous, than during the chaotic upheaval that a broken masquerade would be sure to spawn.” 

After a long, tense moment, the light in Yasaka’s eyes dimmed back to normal levels, and the kitsune merely looked  _ tired _ . “It is an imperfect, unfair solution, but even gods and buddhas can fall short of a perfect, ideal solution.”

“I never said that they should have, I just don’t agree with it on principle,” Nobunaga answered, studying the woman just a bit less intensely. “But as someone who grew and lived in an age of strife and upheaval…well, I suppose that I can understand your personal reason, if only slightly.” Her head tilted to the side as her mouth split in a cheshire grin, her eyes glimmering. “Of course, chaos is something I live and strive for, as the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven.”

“Nobu, don’t you think that Mara  _ might _ want to talk to you about usurping their title?” Trent interjected, a finger raised. “I know that Kama back in the world you’re originally from has some issues with it…”

“Ah? If they have a problem, then they can fight me! We’ll see who’s truly worthy of it!” the Archer cheered, her other hand coming up to form a claw in the air, hellfire burning in her grasp and casting her face in a ghoulish light.

Yasaka’s face went flat, and her fox ears laid flat against her head. “Please refrain from burning Kyoto to the ground.”

Nobunaga let out a boisterous laugh, notably not acknowledging the kitsune’s request.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The living room was sparsely decorated. A low table of fine make in the middle of the room, a large TV set on one of the neutral, taupe walls, the rice paper of the shoji providing a pleasant contrast in their lighter shade. Sitting atop the middle of the table itself were two bowls; one full of rice crackers, the other’s contents hidden by a lid and an attached label reading ‘For Oryou’.

Listening carefully, you could hear the occasional, quiet ‘ribbet’.

Johan glanced between the fruits of his and Trent’s labors and Oryou herself, whose cheeks bulged out cutely. Arguably less cute were the still-twitching frog legs that poked out of the dragon woman’s mouth, but Johan was willing to ignore it.

Ryoma, for his part, had busied himself in an adjacent kitchen, being the only one among the three who knew how to prepare a traditional Japanese meal.

For a while, the only sound was the muffled crunch of Oryou mercilessly devouring live frogs by the handful, Johan ignoring the noise in favor of worrying at his fingernails. The fact that the city wasn’t yet on fire was a good sign, but…

The albino closed his eyes.  _ He had a feeling some real shit was going to happen soon. _

A stomping of feet outside the door drew his attention, and he quickly realised they were more than just Astolfo and Charlie’s; the cadence was far more awkward than when the Rider dragged his Master along.

“Guuuuuuuuys~!” the pinket’s voice rang out, sounding utterly exuberant and joyful.

With a wet sucking sound, Oryou swallowed six half-chewed frogs at once and floated to the door, tossing it open.

Astolfo stood in the doorway, Charlie trailing behind him with a dead expression in his eyes, and under his arm was a large, leather-clad, masked bondage gimp. “I brought a new friend! His name is Brock Obama!” The paladin poked the so-called ‘Brock’ in the cheek, eliciting a wet sob and a slurred, indecipherable word that  _ might _ have been a name.

Oryou tilted her head to one side, confusion in her gaze. Ryoma exited the kitchen, nearly dropped the large plate of rice and meat upon seeing Astolfo’s... _ friend _ , and then looked at Johan.

Johan, for his part, had slammed his head into the table. He then stood up, ignoring the trickle of blood coming from the split skin on his forehead. “Astolf—no,  _ Charlie _ , what is going on here?”

“Astolfo wanted to see various famous sites, and eventually we ended up in this weird, dark place, with blaring music,” the ashen-haired young man answered, a haunted look in his eyes. “Everyone was wearing leather and holding whips and such. And then Astolfo came back with this guy.”

Trent and Nobu walked in at just about that moment, making it a couple of steps into the room before actually recognising what was going on inside it. Nobu’s hat, which she’d taken off to place on the hat-rack beside the door, reversed course and was planted firmly back on her head before she and her Master did an about-face and walked right back out the door, closing it behind them.

_ “Y’all lily-livered pig-stickin’ yellow-bellies git yer tails back in ‘ere!”  _ Johan roared, so utterly done with today that he slipped back into the dialect of his youth.

The blond’s voice echoed back, sounding completely unsurprised by this development despite its absurdity. “Johan, I’m under a contractual obligation not to deal with any leatherdaddies unless they’re Carmy’s bitches! You know this!”

“I’m callin’ bullshit on that one, Trent,” Johan replied, calming down as he spoke, “on account of the fact that Carmilla has  _ met _ Astolfo.”

“Hey!” Astolfo protested, before pausing and then saying, “No, wait, that’s fair. Carry on.”

“You forget one thing, my boy,” the blond retorted, the door sliding open slightly as he and Nobu stuck their heads through it. “Carmy has  **_met_ ** Astolfo!”

It was at that point that a man cleared their throat behind the blond, causing him and his Servant to turn around and see just who it was.

Dead-tired purple eyes stared back from above the darkest bags he’d ever seen, limp silver hair framing the man’s face from beneath a purple beret. A magenta trenchcoat devoured his frame, hiding much of his loose stance and slumped shoulders. His mouth briefly moved, as if to say something, only for a sound that was caught between a sigh and a yawn to escape his throat, a black gloved hand coming up to cover his maw.

“Excuse the intrusion; I’m here to pick up a drunkard.”


	5. Chapter Five: Then Perish

Chapter Five: Then Perish

The group had once more moved to the sitting room, only the gimp missing, as he’d toddled off with a change of clothes that the newcomer had brought for him. The silver-haired man was seated across from them, placidly sipping from the tea that he’d been served while occasionally looking towards Oryou.

The dragon was simply ignoring him, happily floating in the air as she stuck whole frogs into her mouth.

Trent and Nobu were sitting next to each other, another lidded bowl between them that occasionally shook, while snacking on sandwiches that Ryoma had thoughtfully prepared for them while they were in their meeting with Yasaka. Every so often, one of them would lift the lid, reach in to pull out an amphibian and throw it up to Oryou, who would happily catch it in her mouth.

Charlie was busy entertaining Astolfo with a small handheld video game, keeping the pinket from running off and accosting his new friend while he changed.

Johan, meanwhile, was quietly eating some of the rice and chicken Ryoma had just brought out. A small bandage covered the part of his forehead he’d split open with his earlier facedesk.

For a while, the only sounds were the distressed croaking of airborne amphibians, followed by the abrupt termination of their fear in the form of the  _ crunch _ of Oryou’s jaws.

The silence was broken, however, when Ryoma came back into the room, the now-dressed but still extremely drunk stranger leaning on his shoulder, head lolling.

He was a tall and decently muscled man, his brown hair shorn close to his head and a thick beard framing his lined face. He wore a simple navy jacket that covered most of his upper body and matching slacks, which were tucked into his shin-high boots. Were it not for the flush of alcohol colouring his cheeks, the tear stains running down from his eyes and the occasional sob that escaped him, he might have been imposing.

Johan caught his Servant’s eye and rose from his meal to pull a futon out of a closet in the hallway adjacent to the den area.

“He collapsed in the bathroom,” Ryoma explained, laying the man down on the futon. The Rider knelt at the drunken man’s side, producing a wet washcloth and dabbing the tears from the stranger’s face.

“Oh no!” Astolfo cried, jumping over his master as he heard about his friend’s blight. “Brock, you coulda drowned! Or ended up steamed like a lobster! Actually, you kinda look like a lobster, in terms of colour… Oh no, did you turn into a were-lobster, Brock?!”

“Shuri…” the brunet cried, turning away from the noise as he curled in on himself, creating a lump in the futon.

The silver-haired man let out a sigh as he replaced his tea on the table. “He’s usually not this bad,” he said, rising to his feet. As he walked to ‘Brock’s’ side, the man muttered, “Seeing his daughter debut in that Rating Game must’ve compounded the issue.”

“Akeno! Do-don’t get too close to that boy, he’s gonna strip you in public! You won’t be able to get married!” the lump wailed, pure despair colouring his every word. The pile shuddered as his voice hitched higher. “An-an don’t gemme started on that Phenex boy! He-he’s got the sort of eyes that try to impregnate any woman they lay eyes on! My baby girl! My baby girl’s chastity!”

Trent looked around, eventually catching Nobu’s eye, and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “It’s comforting, knowing that the supernatural here are about as normal people as Heroic Spirits are. Even if this is incredibly painful to watch.”

“See? This is why I think that it’s stupid to segregate the mundane from the supernatural, we’re all the same when it simmers down to it,” the Archer replied, equally as quiet, watching the scene unfolding before her with morbid amusement.

The blond hummed in agreement, and pulled a frog from their container, tossing it up to Oryou, who seemed utterly unconcerned by Brock’s plight as she snapped the frog out of the air.

Johan, for his part, remained silent, quietly eating his rice as he looked on in naked concern.

Strolling up beside his compatriot, the silver-haired man let loose another sigh. He looked at the people around him and apologized, “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.” He then pulled his leg back and kicked Brock, sending him tumbling out of the room and off the veranda, into the koi pond in the yard.

Displeased by the disturbance, the koi all started thrashing about as the brunet pulled himself from the water. Coughing, his eyes cracked open slightly as he groaned, “Sh-shem, why-why’d ya gotta do me like that?”

“Baraqiel, you were wandering the underbelly of Kyoto, travelling to every S&M club you could find, in a horribly stained gimpsuit, for the past three days,” Shem replied, his expression somehow even more dead. “I understand that you’re still recovering from what happened to Shuri, but you really need to shape up when you come to Kyoto. It’s not our territory, and while Lady Yasaka is understanding, you went overboard this time.”

Baraqiel swayed on his feet, dripping water on the cobblestone. One particularly vicious koi had decided to latch onto his ear, so he flicked it off, back into the pond. He gave an apologetic grimace to the denizens of the room.

His grimace was ruined by Astolfo sliding into existence next to him, loudly declaring, “I was right, you are a were-lobster! That’s why the carp tried to eat you! Oh man, we gotta keep you away from restaurants!”

“As funny as that might be,” Shem remarked, allowing a pair of black wings to fall out of his back, seemingly more tired even with how lackadaisical the movement was. “We’re not were-lobsters, we’re—”

“Oh no, even worse, you’re were-Trents! Trent, when did you bite them?” The Rider cried, turning to look at the blond in shock and horror.

The Cancuk snorted as he swallowed a bite of his sandwich, his expression one of pure amusement. “That’s my secret, Astolfo. I’m always biting.”

The pinket let out a gasp, and started desperately patting himself down in search of bitemarks.

Johan set down his bowl and let out a sigh. “While tales of Trent’s... _ escapades _ are doubtlessly entertaining, I don’t think that’s accurate, Astolfo. Based on the ending of mister Baraqiel’s name and the color of mister... _ Shem’s _ wings, I’d hazard that we’re in the presence of Fallen.”

“You are correct in that supposition, young man,” the Fallen remarked candidly, his wings disappearing back into the aether. “And, for the record, my name is Shemhazai, though I do understand any confusion or trouble my comrade might’ve caused.”

“Nice to meet you, Shemhazai!” Trent called, waving to the man from behind with one hand while tossing a frog up to Oryou in a trickshot. “Still, both ‘He Who Has Seen’ and the ‘Lightning of God’, we continue to find ourselves in prestigious company.”

“Feh, if I didn’t like’em, I could probably take them both in an instant,” the Archer beside him declared, studying the duo carefully as she took a bite out of the frog in her hand. She paused in realization and then shrugged, continuing to chew it and then swallow it while flames tenderly caressed and cooked the remains in her hand. “It just can’t be helped, though. We promised  _ not _ to burn down the city.”

Ryoma shot Nobunaga a dubious glance, then shook his head as the Demon King chowed down on her now-cooked frog. The white-clad Rider leaned against a wall and addressed Shemhazai. “I do apologize for my associate’s eccentricity; I’m sure you understand the task of…” He searched for a phrase. “Of  _ corralling _ many different, eclectic personalities.”

The Fallen let out a noise somewhere between a snort, a sigh, and chuckle as he shook his head, slowly ambling over to his still waterlogged friend. The silver-haired man’s face pulled into an expression of pure wry amusement as he remarked, “Oh, believe me, so candid as your company might be, they’re on the refreshing end of eccentric. You’ve not had to stop your own superior officer from running off with a Magical Girl to do mad science together.”

“…Y’know, we really do fit right in,” Trent muttered while shaking his head at what he’d just learned, he then paused. “Wait, is the Magical Girl Onicure? Oh man, I’d be so excited to see Onicure!”

Johan chuckled. “You and me both, man. Onicure’s great.”

Ryoma looked between the two, one eyebrow raised, then shook his head. “Mad science and magical girls aside, perhaps the three of us ought to hash things out in a...less chaotic setting.” He sideyed the Archer and his fellow Rider, who was presently bombarding Baraqiel with questions. 

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Shemhazai agreed as he reached out and pried Astolfo off of his companion, not that it stopped the pinket from yammering away. It took the direct intervention of Charlie to redirect the moon rabbit’s attention, and the duo went outside to check on the koi.

Baraqiel just stumbled towards the building, somewhat unbalanced without the unknowing support that the Rider had been giving him.

“Bloody diplomats, always leaving me out of conversations like this,” Nobu grumbled, chewing her way through a second cooked frog, earning her an ominous stare from Oryou. “Eh, not like I really care either way, those meetings are never all that fun to sit through. Too stuffy and boring.”

“Alas, not enough skull dances to make it worth your time,” the Canadian commiserated with her jokingly, while holding up a frog for Oryou to snack on, diverting the great serpent’s wrath... _ for now _ .

The Archer nodded emphatically, loudly declaring, “See, you get it! There’s not enough levity to those meetings, it’s all boring and serious all the time!”

“Man, it’s times like this that I realize why Carmy was so exasperated with me all the time,” Trent muttered, giving his head a shake of sadness and disappointment.

“You get what you fucking deserve,” Johan snarked, gathering up his dishes and starting for the kitchen.

Having no way to rebut that statement, the blond shrugged, “Just can’t be helped, can it?”

Nobunaga laughed in agreement.

-x-x-x-

A good while later, the trio returned from their meeting to find that the group had formed a racetrack in the yard, Astolfo darting ahead of Nobunaga and Oryou, a pair of frogs tied up and trailing behind him while the two tried to catch them in their mouths. Off to the side, Trent, and Kunou were cheering on the chasers, while Charlie shook his head in exasperation and Johan alternated between watching the spectacle amusedly and paging absently through his grimoire.

Baraqiel was still a bit too off-kilter to do anything more than stare at the scene with a blank gaze, while Ryoma tilted his hat down to shade his eyes and shook his head, sighing. Shemhazai placed a hand on the Rider’s shoulder and gave him a commiserating nod, before saying, “You’ll get used to it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ryoma shot back, only half joking.

“So, what’ve you three decided on?” the sole Canadian inquired as he sauntered over, having given Kunou a flag with a mini-Nobu face on it that he’d made from a tengu feather. Johan trailed behind him, one eye on his book, the other on his Servant.

Ryoma glanced between Baraqiel (who’d started to wander off aimlessly) and Shemhazai (who was already following after the still tipsy man) before replying, “Apparently, Archer’s shenanigans have reached the ears of their leader, Azazel, and he is most curious to meet us.” The Rider glanced at the racetrack, where the aforementioned Demon King had abandoned running as a tactic and was now propelling herself after Astolfo by materializing guns beneath her feet and firing them repeatedly.

“Lord Nobunaga in particular,” Ryoma added dryly.

“Yeah, that sounds about right for the Scapegoat of God,” Trent agreed, nodding as he watched Oryou and Nobunaga flail through the air, connected to Astolfo’s shoulders by the strings leading to their mouths, the frogs clearly already caught. Magical muskets cartwheeled through the air, firing anti-Divine lasers in all directions.

Johan ducked out of the way of one of them, the beam continuing on and scorching the grass before Nobu dematerialized her weapons. 

“I didn’t recognize our guests’ names,” Johan admitted, snapping his tome shut and tucking it under an arm, “but Azazel is a name I  _ do _ .” He scratched the back of his head. “He was the one who allegedly taught humans about cosmetics and the like, and Fell out of his lust for women, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Absolutely correct,” Trent said, giving a firm nod to his compeer. “He’s one of the more infamous of the Fallen, alongside Helel.”

At that point, Shemhazai had returned, Baraqiel in tow. “I do believe we shall be taking our leave, gentlemen. Lord Azazel will be in Kuoh for the remainder of the week, should you choose to seek him out. If not, he will doubtless find a way to contact you.” The silver-haired Fallen gave each of them a firm nod, turned on his heel, and vanished with his charge in a flurry of black feathers (which Trent gathered up and stuffed in his pockets, of course).

After helping Charlie untangle Astolfo, Oryou and Nobu, who’d ended up tied together both by the strings that had been attached to Astolfo and by Oryou’s stronger-than-steel hair, the group filed back into the house.

Oryou curled up on the ceiling and promptly dropped into REM sleep with no trouble, the lucky bitch. Ryoma sank down in front of the table and began to relax, Johan following suit with a sigh.

Nobunaga plopped down unceremoniously and started flipping through channels before settling on a rerun of Takeshi’s Castle. Trent joined her, noting that the English dub of the show was much funnier, if only because it took itself even less seriously than the Japanese dub did. Astolfo and Charlie were going to join them, but the Rider was overcome with a desire to try and create his own version of the courses.

When the show finally ended, the news came on, and before Nobunaga could change the channel, the first story caught everyone’s eyes. A reporter was standing in front of an old, western style building, with what looked to be a Japanese castle somehow perched atop it.

“Isn’t that Himeji Castle?” the Archer inquired, her head cocking to the side as she studied the building. “The hell’s that doing there?”

The microphone in the reporter’s hand slid in front of a serious-looking, bespectacled young lady with short-cropped black hair, whose entire being radiated stoic fury. One of her eyebrows twitched and the corner of her mouth was fighting every bit of her will to try and pull into a frown. “ _ Now, the castle itself is a replica that our Occult Research Club has put together for the sake of the upcoming school festival. Now, I do not approve of the level of extravagance or scale that they’ve gone to, no matter how endearing their enthusiasm might be. _ ” The young lady nodded to herself as her eyes drifted shut, the corner of her mouth seemingly stopping its war as she declared, “ _ Indeed, I’m quite looking forward to her—I mean, the club’s work in taking it apart once the event passes. _ ”

Blinking at the sight, Trent’s head fell to the side as he studied the construction, his mouth falling open. “So…when are Castle Cjeste and the Great Pyramid going to join the pile?” He paused, his eyes widening in realization as a smile devoured his face. “And Oniland! That means Onicure! I just can’t wait!”

Johan for his part, was more focused on the implications of Himeji Castle materializing. “Okkie’s here, huh?” He gave a smile. “That’s amazarashi _.” _

The blond’s head rolled around to face him, launching a two finger salute as he declared, “Either you yamate kudastop, or you shin-die.”

Johan overdramatically dived behind Ryoma, crying, “Keep me safe, kudaplease!”

Her eyes cracking open at the noise, and catching the albino clinging to her husband, Oryou imperiously declared, “Perish.”


	6. Chapter Six: Guns ‘N’ Crows(es)

Chapter Six: Guns ‘N’ Crows(es)

Johan’s second meeting with Yasaka had quite a different tone from his first, and was yet further divorced from Trent and Nobu’s a few days prior. After all, _this_ time what they were discussing wasn’t the gang’s fault.

...Well, at least not directly.

Of course, there was also the fact that the room they were meeting with the kitsune in was a fair bit more welcoming, if no less refined and spartan in form and function. Magus, Heroic Spirit and dragon sat (or in one case, floated) at a table opposite Yasaka, whose countenance was as stern as ever, but not precisely unfriendly.

Tapping a folded fan on her palm, the leader of the Youkai Faction studied the trio through a half-lidded gaze. “So, your group has encountered the Fallen Angels that I allow the occasional respite within my Kyoto. I’m rather curious as to just how that occurred, I’m sure you understand.”

Ryoma and Johan nodded almost in unison, while Oryou flicked at her hair, not paying a great deal of attention to the conversation at hand. She’d really only tagged along “to keep Ryoma out of trouble”, in her words.

“While I don’t have all the details,” Ryoma began, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “my understanding is that when Astolfo took young Charlie to see the sights of Kyoto a few days ago, they managed to stumble their way into, ah…” The Rider flushed slightly. “Into a _house of ill repute_ , shall we say.”

As Ryoma continued speaking, his blush faded and his tone became more sober. “There, they encountered a man well into his cups and very clearly not with his wits about him, and rather than leave him to his own devices, Astolfo took it upon himself to bring the man back to our residence.” After pausing to rub at his eyes, Ryoma finished, “It was only after the man’s associate arrived that we realized just who, and what, we’d taken in.”

“It is that time of year, isn’t it?” Yasaka murmured quietly to herself, her eyes darting to the side as she did some mental math. Rather than dwell on the matter, she nodded towards the trio. “And thus, you met with two of the upper echelons of the Grigori. I should have had someone accompanying Baraqiel, given the… unique outlook and flair that Lord Nobunaga seems to bring to everything, so this accidental meeting was caused by my own negligence.” Snapping the fan in her hand open and holding it up to hide her mouth, she tilted her head to the side as she asked, “However, I must ask as to just what you all intend to do, now that you have met with the Fallen?”

This time, it was Johan who spoke, replying, “Well, Mr. Shemhazai informed us that his boss wanted to meet with us and is hanging out in Kuoh right now, and considering what that replica of Himeji Castle appearing implies, we’re going to head over there tomorrow morning.”

“Oh? I was rather sure that the Castle’s appearance was due to the whims of those currently residing in Kuoh, rather than anything untoward?” The kitsune’s eyes narrowed once more as her fan snapped shut, and though they hadn’t quite been worded as one, the words were a question nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t call her _untoward_ ,” Johan hedged with a nervous chuckle, “but Trent and I are pretty sure that it’s a product of a Heroic Spirit’s Noble Phantasm; specifically that of Assassin, Osakabehime.”

“The youkai of Himeji Castle? I suppose that would make some sense, though I’ve no idea as to what a Noble Phantasm is, nor just how it would create a perfect replica of Himeji Castle,” the grand poobah of Kyoto declared, her eyes locking on to the magus.

“Oryou’s a Noble Phantasm,” Oryou piped up, nudging Ryoma affectionately with her shoulder. Thankfully, the Hero of Reform braced himself and so wasn’t sent sprawling.

“To be more clear,” Ryoma expounded, “a Noble Phantasm is a nebulous thing, but it boils down to a crystallization of a Heroic Spirit’s legend. For some, it’s an object or weapon, for others a technique or spell, for still others it might even be a place or event.” He bumped back up against Oryou, not budging the dragon woman in the slightest. “And yes, in my case, my own sealed Noble Phantasm takes the sealed form of Oryou, though I understand that living Noble Phantasms aren’t the norm outside the Rider class.”

Here, Johan picked up where his Servant left off, offering, “And when one thinks of Osakabehime, one thinks of Himeji Castle, so it’s little wonder that her Noble Phantasm is intrinsically linked to the location.”

The kitsune’s ears twitched as her expression turned pensive, her fan tapping at her delicate chin. She didn’t speak for a good few moments, her breathing slowed as she sat seemingly unmoving. Eventually, she gave a small nod, and murmured, “I see, I suppose that gives some clarity on certain matters. The question that remains, however, is just what you intend to do about Osakabehime. As she is a youkai, she too falls under my jurisdiction.”

Ryoma tented his hands and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Under ordinary circumstances, I suspect that I would not have a favorable response for you, Miss Yasaka. Holy Grail Wars are not named such for being bloodless events.” Before the kitsune could respond, however, the Rider continued, undaunted. “However, my own summoning alone points to this Holy Grail War being anything but ordinary, to say nothing of the fact that it is occurring in a drastically different world than the one the Grail knows.” Ryoma met Yasaka’s eyes. “So long as Osakabehime is amicable, open to discourse, and refrains from preying on innocents—as my Master suspects she will be—we will have no reason to treat her with hostility.”

Yasaka inspected the diplomat carefully, weighing each and every word that left his mouth, her expression carefully neutral. Eventually, she gave a slow nod. “That will be acceptable, I suppose, even if it is not a perfect solution.” Snapping her fan open, the kitsune sighed. “All I ask is that you extend to her an offer of safe haven in Kyoto, should she need it.”

“Of course,” Johan replied with a nod that Ryoma offered in unison. “However, considering the fact that she was comfortable enough to set up her Noble Phantasm in Kuoh, she was probably summoned by someone with whom she gets along well.” He paused. “Which makes sense, considering I doubt the summoner had a catalyst on hand so Osakabehime was probably summoned based on compatibility…”

The kitsune looked between the magus and the diplomat, her eyes narrowed. “So, these Servants can be summoned based on either catalysts or compatibility. How… curious. I can’t help but be saddened that Mister Blackmore didn’t conduct his summoning somewhere other than Mount Hiei, as then I might not have had to deal with both him and Lord Nobunaga.”

Johan snorted and shook his head. “Knowing my luck, he’d have summoned her on compatibility alone. They’re actually terrifyingly similar when you get right down to it. Last time he summoned _Carmilla_.” 

Yasaka’s eyes snapped wide, her ears perking into points at the name.

Johan shrugged at her expression, and continued, “Though I’m not exactly in any position to throw stones, as my previous Servant was Dr. Henry Jekyll and his counterpart Edward Hyde.”

The kitsune didn’t react quite as sharply at the name, her features instead turning pensive. “How interesting… to think that these Servants are so varied…” she trailed off, clearly having thoughts on the matter, just being unwilling to share them.

Johan nodded. “Aye, ‘Heroic Spirit’ is a bit of a misnomer, really. As long as a being is etched into history deeply enough, they’re probably recorded on the Throne. Jack the Ripper and Tamamo-no-Mae are just as summonable as King Arthur and Arash Kamangir.”

“That is… quite the assortment,” Yasaka muttered, shaking her head at the listed names. “We have, however, digressed. To bring things back to the original topic of the meeting, I must ask, what do you intend to do when meeting with the Governor General of the Grigori?”

Johan perked up at that. “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to tell me a bit about the man; all Mr. Shemhazai mentioned about him was ‘running off to do mad science with a magical girl’, so I’m not entirely sure what to expect beyond ‘the unexpected’.”

“The Governor General is an eccentric man at the best of times,” the parun of Japan’s various youkai species remarked, her shoulders relaxing as she turned her gaze across the group. “Despite that, he is a shrewd politician and powerful in his own right. While he might initially come across as the lackadaisical sort, he hasn’t held his station for so long for no reason.”

Johan nodded. So Azazel was the same type of Stand being as Nobu. “In that case, when we meet with him, we’ll find out what he wants with us, and if it’s nothing egregious or invasive, we’ll probably help him out. Beyond that…” Johan paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Beyond that we’ll probably see about establishing a reputation for ourselves as a neutral party who’ll help decent people out, regardless of faction.”

Yasaka tapped her fan against the edge of the table before her, and then slowly nodded. “In that case, I shall wish your group the best of luck in your meeting with the Governor General.”

As Johan and Ryoma bowed their thanks, Oryou stirred and gave a yawn, before slumping against Ryoma’s back, still floating. “Hey. Heeeeeey. Ryoooooma.”

The white-clad Servant turned to regard his dragon wife. “Yes, Oryou?”

Oryou smiled, this time a kind one that didn’t give the impression of impending ingestion of one's person. “Hi.” She nipped at the tip of his nose and floated away lazily, leaving behind a befuddled Ryoma, an amused Johan, and a bemused Yasaka.

-x-x-x-

The group had ended up travelling to Kuoh via bullet train, with some extremely careful maneuvering from the group to keep Oryou’s hair from destroying the vehicle, even if it did earn them _many_ odd looks.

Being forced to sit mostly still for so long made Astolfo increasing antsy, and when they arrived he immediately tried to run off and explore, though he was brought up short by the toddler harness that Charlie had bought to keep the pinket from running off. Granted, if the Moon Goon had _really_ wanted to escape Charlie wouldn’t have been able to stop him, but he seemed content to just pull at the harness lightly like an enthusiastic puppy.

Were this any other country, they’d probably have been stopped by the police on their way to the hotel Azazel had commandeered, but the ingrained cultural attitude of “it’s none of my business” seemed to be doing the motley crew a world of help.

When they reached the hotel, they were met at the door by a starstruck-looking bellhop, her hair in disarray and her cheeks flushed. She ushered them to the elevator, telling them they were “expected”, sounding more than a bit jealous.

The room itself could only be described as utterly pimped out, from the soft and luxurious carpeting, to the leather couches that were covered in leopard and tiger print pillows. A hot tub took up an entire corner of the room, and the bed could easily hold seven people. All in all, it looked more like something a porn set than an actual penthouse.

As for the room’s occupant, he was sprawled casually on the couch, clad in a pale blue yukata. A lazy grin adorned his face, but the way his bright gaze swept over each of them in turn belied the idea that he wasn’t taking them seriously. “Come in, come in! Have a seat anywhere, make yourselves at home.” His smile turned roguish as he ran a hand through his gold-tipped hair. “Sitting in my lap costs extra, though.” He shot a wink at Nobunaga.

“Then I suppose it’s just as well that I’ve no plans of doing any such thing,” the warlord declared as she fell into one of the few plush armchairs scattered about the room. “Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to afford the price for that service.”

Azazel let out a laugh at that, clearly not taking any offense at being shot down so summarily.

Trent just shook his head at his Servant’s shenanigans and happily took a seat on one of the couches, while helping Charlie wrangle Astolfo onto the furniture beside him.

Johan sank into another of the armchairs, looking on bemusedly as Ryoma desperately tried to convince Oryou, that “no, she did _not_ need to sit in his lap to assert dominance over the ‘spicy crow man’”.

“So then, crow, what is it that you wanted from us?” Nobunaga asked, her lazy expression being betrayed by the way her eyes had narrowed.

Azazel’s smile faded ever-so-slightly, but he maintained his cheerful tone as he replied, “What can I say? Yasaka mentioned you all when I called her to make sure Baraqiel was still welcome in Kyoto for his usual...” His smile grew strained. “ _Coping mechanism_.” He pursed his lips, then shook his head and continued on. “In any case, I must admit to being curious about these so-called ‘Heroic Spirits’, and this ‘Throne of Heroes’ as well.”

Azazel leaned forward. “And then you looked after one of my own when he was at his lowest, so the least I could do was offer my gratitude in person.” He spread his hands wide. “So there you have it. Professional curiosity and personal gratitude are reason enough to ask for a meeting, no?”

“Indeed,” Ryoma replied. “As for your gratitude, much of that ought to be directed to Astolfo and young Charlie there—” he gestured to the duo, one of whom waved cheerfully even as the other gave a stiff nod “—as they were the ones to actually find Baraqiel and bring them back. As to your curiosity…” The Rider glanced over to Trent and Johan.

“I fisted the Earth and shouted for the dumb bitch to do what I wanted, then a bird exploded and Nobu showed up,” Trent declared as he crossed his arms and gave a firm nod. “Sometimes, it just be that way.”

Johan, who’d opened his mouth to offer an explanation, promptly choked on his spit and began coughing. After thumping his chest a couple of times, his airway cleared, and he rasped, “You’re completely correct about what happened and I hate it.”

The blond shrugged as he let out a noise of amusement. “Such is life on this bitch of an Earth.”

Azazel threw back his head and let out a deep belly laugh. After a few moments, he sighed and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “Ah, this is why I love humans. They might not live long, but they live loud, bright, and bold.”

“Heh, at least you can appreciate that, even if you strike me as the meddling type,” Nobunaga declared, snickering as she shifted to sit more comfortably.

Azazel leaned his chin in one hand. “I won’t deny that assessment, though since I took over the Grigori after ol’ Helel kicked the bucket, I’ve not had too much time for such frivolities. Leading the Fallen is like herding a bunch of angst-ridden teenage nekomata in heat.”

“Man, it sucks that Shamrock has to lead the Gregs,” Astolfo declared candidly, putting his hands on his hips as he puffed his chest out proudly. Charlie glanced at his charge with tired eyes, and shot Azazel an apologetic smile.

The Scapegoat, for his part, pouted. No matter how handsome the man might have been, a grown man pouting would never be any less disturbing of a sight. Pulling his face into a more serious expression, Azazel sighed. “In truth, I’d like for you all to… look into a matter for me. I’d normally have my own agent do it, but I don’t want to, as he’d likely make the situation vastly worse.”

Ryoma glanced at Nobu pointedly, who merely grinned and gave him a saucy wave. The Hero of Reformation pressed his fingertips to his temples and rubbed them. Servants were _not_ supposed to be susceptible to migraines, but clearly rules didn’t apply when it came to Nobunaga Oda.

Seeing as his Servant was dealing with his own troubles, Johan was the one to ask the obvious question. “Well, I suppose I have three questions. What is it that you want us to look into, why ask perfect strangers for their help with what I’m guessing is a sensitive matter, and why do you think _we_ are capable of handling it satisfactorily when your own agent cannot or will not?”

“To be perfectly honest? I don’t,” Azazel rebutted, lifting up his hands as he smiled winningly. “But I think that this won’t just be a good way to get your measure, but also help to establish you all amongst the Supernatural Factions properly.”

The Archer then interrupted, a bored expression on her face. “That’s great and all, but even back in my day, artists didn’t accept exposure as payment for their art. What’s in it for us?”

Azazel gave a chuckle and tented his hands. “A fair argument, though some might see my illustrious company and generous aid as reward enough.” At Nobu’s abjectly unimpressed stare, Azazel continued, “However, I would be remiss if I took advantage in such a way, so...hmm. Perhaps…?”

The Governor-General trailed off, staring off into the air as though doing calculations. After a moment, though, he snapped back to reality and gave a grin. “How about this? In return for helping me out, I’ll supply you with something nice?” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I’ve been making progress on Artificial Sacred Gears, and could whip something up for you.” He chuckled. “As long as you don’t mind it being in beta for the first little while, of course.”

“Well, now you’re speaking my language, crow. Make it a gun, and we’re in business,” Nobunaga replied, a feral grin on her face.

Azazel grinned in response. “Please, I’m a mad scientist. You won’t be limited to just _one_ kind of gun.”

“See, now _this_ is how you sweet talk a lady,” the Archer declared, setting the two in stone as a match made in hell.


	7. Chapter Seven: Catching a Bite

Chapter Seven: Catching a Bite

Before Azazel and Nobunaga could fall  _ too _ deeply into a dangerous back and forth, Ryoma cleared his throat. The Archer and the Governor-General turned to regard the Rider almost as one.

“Your pardon, Lord Nobunaga,” Ryoma said, uncrossing his arms, “but I cannot help but notice that Azazel answered only  _ one  _ of my three questions, and even that one was answered only in part.”

The Hero of Reform leaned forward and interlaced his fingers in front of his face, the brim of his hat shading his eyes. All in all, he cut an intimidating figure...or at least he would have, had Oryou not perfectly mimicked his motions behind him, resting her chin on his head and her elbows on his shoulders.

Letting out a huff, Azazel slumped back in his seat, his pinky coming up to pick at his ear. “So, you’re this group’s Shem then, is that it?” His expression relaxed as he rolled his eyes, acting more like a child being scolded for not doing his homework more than anything else as he explained, “Alright, alright, alright. So, my guy, see, he’s the really testy sort. The kind of guy that’ll pick a fight with anyone and everyone, normally doesn’t pose too much of a problem when I send him on errands. The issue is that the person I’d be sending him after is in  _ extremely _ close proximity to his eternal rival, the chances of him going off-script and abandoning the mission are way too high to consider.”

Ryoma nodded. “I know the sort, so I can understand that at the very least. However, why  _ us _ ? And why, for that matter, do you care to ‘help establish us among the Supernatural Factions’?” He narrowed his eyes. “We have only just met; what gave you the impression that  _ we  _ were worth backing?”

“Why you? Because why not?” the Governor General answered, smiling lazily and absolutely unrepentantly. “Honestly, it’s because you lot seem pretty strong and I think this will be a good way to test that. As for backing you… well, again, why not? If I help you lot get your feet in the door now, then in the future, you guys’ll be cool with helping me when I need a hand.”

“Ah, I getcha, I getcha,” Nobu declared as she nodded sagely, her eyes closed as she cupped her chin. “It’s  _ quid pro quo _ , we scratch your back and you scratch ours. Simple enough then.”

Ryoma looked between the two and gave a sigh. “I suppose that will have to do for now, at least regarding  _ that  _ explanation. Now—” he tapped a finger against the table, “—my first question, and arguably the most important one: just  _ what _ is it that you want us to look into?” The Rider leaned back in his chair and kicked a foot up onto his knee, before sighing. “I am not being so insistent out of malice, I hope you realise. I am merely trying to ensure we are prepared for what awaits us as best we can.”

“Hm? Ah, right. I need you guys to pick up Kokabiel, one of my old battle buddies. He’s  _ kinda _ gone off the range,” the Fallen answered, his free hand moving to scratch at his stomach.

While this byplay was going on Johan glanced at Trent. “You recognise that name?” he muttered, leaning toward him.

Watching the group babbling at each other, the blond let out a hum of thought. “The Watcher of the Stars, apparently has a legion of like, one hundred thousand spirits at his command.”

Johan made a face.  _ “Joy.” _

“Three hundred and sixty five thousand,” Azazel corrected, a hand coming up as he smiled reassuringly at the albino. “And worry not my boy, they’re just regular wraiths, not anything special.”

Trent nodded, and then looked back to Johan. “Sorry, three hundred and sixty five thousand spirits.”

Johan gave him a flat look, then sighed. “I should probably be more worried, but well…” He gestured vaguely between Nobu and Oryou. “Knowing our luck, though, shit will end up being more complicated than that.”

“Johan, the last time we got into it with someone, we tossed a pseudo-incarnation of Eve at a false recreation of Adam to destroy his jank-ass attempt at creating the Garden of Eden on Earth,” the blond replied in a tone as flat his friend’s expression, a wry smile on his mouth. “Of course our luck will probably shaft us again.”

Nobu laughed boisterously as she leaned forward in her seat, clapping her Master on the back. “It can’t be helped, eh Master?”

Trent stared at the Archer, his expression unfalteringly bland. “I really wish it could be helped.”

Nobu merely continued to laugh, mercy utterly absent from her countenance.

-x-x-x-

Kuoh Academy was a grand set of buildings, imposing but elegantly designed to match western sensibilities. They wouldn’t have looked out of place alongside the grand halls of Marseilles, and the decor only added to that image, with how every bit of grass and shrubbery was immaculately curated.

The group of seven had shrunken to six, Oryou having gone into spirit form at Ryoma’s request, so as not to spook the people they were there to meet. Trent hadn’t even bothered to ask Nobu to dematerialize, knowing she would do no such thing. Charlie, for his part, had no such luxury, and had to deal with the fact that Astolfo had decided that he would pretend to be a dog.

Standing outside the gates of the academy, Trent’s eyes bored into Himeji Castle, the edifice looming behind the institution. “So, are we gonna just kick down the door and bully the NEET?”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s the right play here, Trent,” Johan shot back.

Ryoma then added, “Indeed. There is no need for us to offer a closed fist when an open hand can work just as well.”

“You say that, but Okki literally will just dig herself in deeper unless we put a boot to her ass,” Trent retorted, shoving his hands in his pockets as he hunched his shoulders.

“True,” Johan admitted, “but we don’t actually know who summoned her, other than a vague allusion to the ‘Occult Research Club’, so it would probably be wise to get a lay of the land before we start making bat-eviction plans.”

“Excuse me, might I ask just what your group is doing loitering at the gates of our Academy?” The young lady who approached was somewhat stern looking, her glasses and long black hair glimmering in the sunlight. She was rather tall for her age and nationality, and had heterochromia, but was otherwise mostly normal beyond being pretty cute. The most noteworthy thing was the way that her gaze had locked onto Nobu, her expression questioning.

Trent looked at the young lady, then at their group. After a moment, he shrugged and declared, “We’re looking for the owner of that there Himeji Castle, we have some… business to discuss with them.”

Johan raised his hand, showing his Command Seals. “If someone you know has recently received any markings like these, that might be of relevance as well.”

“Those markings—!” Her face twisted in shock as her eyes widened. Composing as best she could, she coughed into her fist, “I, I see, I do know of someone, yes. May I ask as to what business you have with them?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story,” Johan hedged, “but the concise explanation is that these markings,” he jiggled his hand for emphasis, “mark someone as being slated to summon a particularly powerful familiar.” He pointed to the laughably anachronistic castle. “And we strongly believe  _ that _ to be a product of one such familiar being summoned.”

The young lady let a breath out through her nose as her eyes closed, opening them, she declared, “I understand, at least somewhat. I can lead you to the building that Castle is situated upon, but the owners of it are currently in the middle of a meeting, so I ask that you not interfere, as they are delicate matters.”

“No shenanigans, got it!” Astolfo declared, trying to escape the cocoon that he’d accidentally crafted from his leash by dancing around his Master on all fours. Trent looked at the Rider, then up at Charlie. There was no life in the homunculus’s eyes, only a grim acceptance.

Ryoma stepped forward, a tired expression on his face. “Please pay him no mind; trying to understand his ways is an exercise in futility.”

“Last week, I removed more porn magazines from within a bag than it should have been able to fit by a factor of five. We still do not know how he managed it without the use of magic,” the young lady remarked, paying Astolfo no mind. She shook her head and then gestured for the group to follow her. “This way, please.”

Two humans, two Servants, a homunculus, and a moon rabbit pretending to be a dog filed into the school after the young woman, approaching the bizarre-looking building at a sedate pace. Before they could reach it though, there was an explosion that shook the walls of Kuoh’s old school building.

The young lady broke into a sprint at the noise, moving in perfect runner’s form, her hair fluttering behind her. The others shared a look and then immediately followed after her, Nobunaga and Astolfo laughing heartily while Ryoma just held his hat on his head. They arrived just in time to see a pair of white-cloaked bodies get defenestrated from the second floor of the building beneath Himeji Castle.

The duo coughed and grumbled as they got to their feet, their figures resolving into female forms. One of them had a bob of blue hair while the other was a twintailed blonde. The blonde patted herself down, only to squeal, “Xenovia, Xenovia, Mimic’s gone!”

“Good job losing your Excalibur, I still ha—” the other girl remarked as she reached back to grasp at the empty air above her shoulder, her fingers closing around empty air.

“Ha, you lost Destruction too!” the blonde loudly laughed, pointing rudely at her companion.

Before anyone could interrupt, a raucous and  _ extremely _ familiar voice interjected from above. “Excalibur? You bitches have the  _ gall _ to call these shitty fakes Excalibur?!”

Jumping down from the upper floor was an armoured figure, their imperious horned helm projecting nothing but contempt for the ladies as they carelessly swung around a pair of swords. One was comically oversized and had ax-blades acting as the crossguard while the other was a simple short sword.

The helm folded out of the way to reveal a handsome face, with wild blonde hair that had been roughly pulled into a ponytail. The green eyes below that hair blazed with fury as the familiar woman held up the plainer of the two weapons. “Weak shit like this!” With a single savage bite, she bit the blade, shattering the supposed Excalibur in a single movement. Throwing the useless hilt aside and spitting out metal shards, she continued, “Don’t  _ deserve _ to be called Excalibur!” Then, she grabbed the other sword by the blade and snapped it in half.

Tossing aside the useless scraps of metal, Mordred sneered at the pair. “Any questions, you sloppy cunts?!”

She was unprepared for what came next, as a ballistic missile made of pink hair and Heroic Spirit collided with her, cheering, “Yay! It’s Mordred! Look, look, Master, Charlie, Johan, Trent! It’s Mordred again!”

At the end of the leash attached to Astolfo’s back, laying on the ground, Charlie sighed, “I can see her, Rider.”

The Saber looked at the two with no recognition, then up at Johan with similar results, her gaze finally landed on Trent. Her eyes widened as she flushed with fury, and she snarled, “ _ You. _ ”

“Hey there, Mordred. Long time no see,” the blond magus replied nervously, one hand raised in greeting.

In the building behind them, a group of people watched in complete bafflement, with the exception of a blond young man, who was staring at the sword shards on the ground and chuckling darkly, a slasher smile on his face.

Any other statements were cut off by the Saber charging forward and leaping into the air, delivering a drop kick to the center of Trent’s chest.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Flames licked the Romanian night skies, billowing fingers of smoke grasping at the stars as if to choke them. The grand castle of the Tepes Vampire Faction sat ablaze, the snow attempting to fall from the sky melting before it even reached the blaze.

Standing outside and smiling up at the conflagration, a mountain of a man clad in jagged, vicious steel lifted his arms up jubilantly as he cheered, “Come now, my sweet descendant! Let us celebrate the deaths of these monsters, your former captors! These heathen dogs are doubtless the incarnation of evil, and thus worthy of the vice of retribution!”

Beside the blood splattered man, a snow-pale blonde girl stood wrapped in a tattered, oversized red cloak. Her red eyes were filled with wonder and horror in equal measure as she stared at the place that had never been her home, despite it being the ancestral domain of her blood. No, Castle Tepes had never been anything but a prison.

The taller man’s hand gently landed on her shoulder and the other rose into the sky, his clawed gauntlets grasping at the heavens. With savage glee, the hand curled into a fist as spears and pikes erupted from every inch of the building, ravaged bodies and skewered viscera poking out of the burning wreckage.

With a slow and surprisingly careful movement, he turned the girl away from the holocaust before her. “Come, my sweet descendant, let us be on our way. You have a beau to reconnect with, no?”

Valerie Tepes’ cheeks  _ burned _ .


	8. Chapter Eight: The Himeji Heresy

Chapter Eight: The Himeji Heresy

The interior of the building wedged beneath Himeji Castle could be described succinctly in three words: posh, opulent and  _ red _ . It almost looked as if someone had filled a super soaker with virgins’ blood and used it to paint the place. The comparison was rather fitting, given that the owners were apparently of the infernal variety, but after dealing with the Scapegoat of God himself our intrepid heroes weren’t too offput.

That didn’t go for the Devils’ other guests, a pair of exorcists dispatched by the Church in search of stolen holy swords. That were apparently pieces of Excalibur, reforged into other, weaker swords. Two of which Mordred just fucking broke.

Sitting in the midst of the reordered room, the groups had effectively been split across the Devils’ sitting room.

Nearest the now-fixed window were the Devils and Mordred, the blonde knight looking entirely unapologetic. The Devils were seemingly led by a well-endowed redhead and a slender black-haired girl who was wearing spectacles. The others seemed subservient to the redhead, as they’d positioned themselves behind her; the only one standing out was a rather deranged-looking blond who was chuckling darkly.

Standing in front of the door to the meeting room, looking incredibly agitated, were the battle nuns who had just lost their weapons. The twintailed honey blonde was casting worried glances around the room, her eyes occasionally settling on the only other male Devil in the room. On the other hand, the blunette was gnashing her teeth, her acidic glare boring into Mordred.

Finally, there were our heroes.

Trent, Johan, Charlie, and Nobu were seated on one of the couches, Oryou floating above them and casually eating frogs from a tupperware container. That was earning her more than a few looks, especially from the shortest person in the room. The white-haired Devil’s face didn’t give much of her thoughts away, but her gaze was intensely focused on Oryou.

Leaning against the armrest nearest Johan was Ryoma, his hands clasped in front of him as he studied the other groups. Finally, Astolfo was sitting on the floor, his brow furrowed as he stared at the blonde exorcist.

“That heathen Devil-familiar just destroyed two of the Excaliburs, and you all believe that we should simply talk!?” the blue-haired exorcist roared, her balled fist smashing against the lovely table set with a number of teacups, sending the tableware flying.

Rather than deign to give the complaint a modicum of import, Mordred just snorted harshly, a scowl twisting her face. Rather than actually help, Trent instead opened his mouth and gave his opinion. “Honestly, if that’s the level those things were at, I’m surprised they didn’t get destroyed before this.”

“They are holy artifacts of the Church! The idea that some hellspawn would be casually able to destroy them is heresy enough!” the irate exorcist shouted, her eyes blazing as her gaze locked onto the blond.

“Regardless of  _ who _ summoned them,” Johan cut in, “and despite the aesthetic of their armor, I can say with certainty that Saber is not hellspawn.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head. “And if  _ anyone _ has a right to fragments of King Arthur’s sword, it would  _ also _ be Saber.”

The blonde knight snorted again and spat on the ground. “You never met the she-devil I crawled out of.”

Johan raised a finger, opened his mouth, then lowered his finger. “Fair.”

“No one has that right!” the exorcist continued, her free hand clawing at the air.

Trent’s eyes darted between Mordred and her, and then remarked, “Listen, I get that you’re not happy with this result, but let’s look at the bright side, miss: no one’s died.” Lifting his hands up and casually presenting thumbs ups to everyone. “In my experience, that’s an absolute win.”

“Perhaps we can move forward with this discussion, rather than linger?” the bespectacled devil suggested, her shoulders taut and eyes narrowed as she looked between the groups.

“That would likely be for the best, yes,” Ryoma replied. “Now, shall we begin with why we came here, Miss…?”

“Sona Sitri,” the raven-haired Devil answered, leaning back in her seat and pushing her glasses up. “And I must agree. While we’re aware as to why the exorcists are here, we’ve no idea as to just who you are.”

“I am Archer, and though I would love to introduce myself, there are certain things holding me back from doing so!” Nobu declared loudly, her hand coming up to claw at the air.

Beside her, Trent just waved at the group at large. “I’m Trent, the person who summoned her. We came here searching for a certain NEET. Also on something of a crow-hunt.”

Johan raised a hand and gave jaunty salute. “Johan. I summoned Rider over there,” he gestured to Ryoma, “and I’m here on the same business as Trent.”

Ryoma picked up where his Master left off, saying, “As he said, I am Rider, and for the same reasons as Archer, I must reluctantly refrain from giving any name but that of my Class.” He raised a hand to pat his floating dragon wife’s hand. “And this is my partner, Oryou.” Oryou waved, a frog gripped in her hand and ribbiting in distress. 

“I’m Charlie, and this is—” As the homunculus went to introduce his own partner, he was cut off by the fact that not only had the pinket slipped his leash, but also invaded the personal space of the blonde exorcist.

Studying her intensely for a moment, he then nodded firmly and broke into a huge grin as he hugged her close to his chest and crowed, “You look just like Braddy!” Looking over at his Master, he babbled, “Look, look, she looks just like Braddy! Can we keep her, Master, can we?”

Charlie looked between the embarrassed and befuddled girl and his rampantly troublemaking charge and sighed. “Please forgive him,” the homunculus said, bowing his head in apology. “He left his common sense on the moon.”

Astolfo pouted at having his request ignored. “You say that like it’s a problem, Master! With my reason, there’s no way that I’d’ve been able to keep up with all the fun we’ve had! Even with all the fun that I got into with the other paladins when I was alive!” Puffing his head out proudly, he declared, “I’m Astolfo, of Charlemagne’s Paladins! I’m a Rider too!”

There was a moment of silence, and then the blue-haired exorcist remarked, “But you’re a girl. Lord Astolfo was male.”

“No, I’m a guy, I just like to dress cute! I’d prove it to you, but I’m not an exhibitionist like Roland was,” the pinket chirped, ignoring the now struggling honey blonde exorcist in his arms. “I mean really, it’s one thing to get down and dirty in the confines of a private dwelling, but just out in the open? Even that’s pretty out there for me, although Braddy did say that Reggie and she used to do things on the… Hippogriff…”

Turning a haunted gaze to his Master, he whispered, “Master, we need to wash Hippogriff.”

“You cannot possibly expect me to stand by as you disrespect such great figures further!” the blunette roared, a hole appearing in space from which she pulled a tremendous, cyan blade with gold highlights. “You shall face Durandal’s justice for this!”

“Wow, Durandal, you really let yourself go over the years,” Astolfo declared candidly, his eyes locked on the sword. “Did you miss Roland so much that you stress ate? Oh no, is that it? Oh, oh, don’t worry, I can help you work off the weight!”

The young lady wielding the holy blade let out a snarl of fury as she darted forward, coming to a stop behind the Rider. Then, she noticed that her hands were empty.

“We’ll start with real light stuff, like jogging!” the pinket told the blade, holding it in two hands above him, nodding at it.

“Astolfo, give Durandal back,” Charlie groaned, earning a whine from his Servant. Holding up a hand to forestall any argument, he added, “It’s not yours, and we’re trying to de-escalate.”

The Rider whined as he thrust the weapon into the young lady’s hands, and said, “You can have him back, but you gotta promise to take care of him. Make sure he eats right and exercises properly!”

“I don’t care who you claim to be, your slander is nigh-heresy,” the exorcist seethed, snatching her weapon back and sliding it back into the hole in space she’d pulled it from.

“But I’m just telling the truth,” Astolfo declared, his head tilting to the side. He then looked to the freshly summoned Saber and asked, “Hey, Mordred, I’m not making anything up, right?”

In stereo, Trent, Johan, Charlie, Ryoma, and Mordred slammed their hands into their faces. After pulling her face free from her hand, the knight walked over to the carefree Rider and grabbed the back of his head before slamming his head into the ground. “Don’t just fucking reveal my identity, asshole.”

“You know what, I might as well just end Assassin’s whole career, given that we can do that too,” Trent noted, watching the byplay and enjoying the fact that it wasn’t his fault this time.

“I mean, Himeji Castle  _ does _ kinda give up the ghost, pun intended.” Johan replied, glancing between the Devils and the Exorcists.

The two groups were instead staring at the so-called son of King Arthur, who was dusting off her hands as she moved to stand by her Master. The Saber ignored the curious stares of the Devils, alongside the wary glares of the exorcists.

Looking between them, she growled, “The Hell’re you all looking at?”

Clearing his throat, Trent pulled attention back to him. “Now, I understand that you all might have questions, but those can be dealt with after we finish this meeting. Now, as we said at the beginning, we’re here to meet with the owner of the castle above us… and also to hunt down a rogue Fallen Angel.”

The group of Devils reacted immediately and viscerally, all of them starting or making noises of hostility. The brunet young man even jerked back and bumped into the young blonde who was standing beside him, gripping his shirt tightly.

Their redheaded leader cleared her throat, and then asked, “Might I ask just what is the identity of the Fallen you’re chasing after?” Gesturing to the exorcists, she added, “While they’ve told us not to involve ourselves in their scavenger hunt, we’d be more than happy to lend a hand in apprehending such a dangerous character.”

Johan let out a breath. “The Watcher of the Stars; Kokabiel.”

Most of the others in the room let out wheezing noises, their eyes widening as they rocked back in reaction to the name. The only ones who didn’t even flinch were Mordred, who was busy digging in one of her ears with a pinky, and the young brunet, who looked confused.

Seeing the young man’s confusion, Johan elaborated. “He’s a big enough deal that his name is recorded in the Bible, which means he’s at least two thousand years old...and he commands an army of 365,000 wraiths. So... yeah, pretty dangerous.”

“Bah, between myself and the diplomat, we’ve this well in hand!” Nobu laughed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her seat and propped her feet up on the table. “And if the Knight of Betrayal joins in, then it just can’t be helped!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re claiming that you’re capable of standing against one of the highest forces of the Grigori,” the redhead declared, her face pale as she held up a hand to forestall any sort of interruption. “Miss, no matter how confident you might be, he’s one of the oldest and most powerful warriors amongst their numbers.”

“Old meat is tough, but Oryou can just swallow him whole,” the floating dragon woman interjected, nodding firmly. “No spicy crow is a match for Oryou’s incredible horsepower.”

“Deciding that something’s too powerful to be toppled based on its age is just holding you back,” Nobunaga declared, her expression growing serious. “Out with the old, and in with the new. If you allow yourself to be mired in the shadows of those who came before you, you’ll never find your own brilliance.”

Johan nodded. “We’re not discounting the fact that Kokabiel is a potent threat, mind you, but Archer is right. While the past is something to be learned from, the only accomplishments that matter are the ones you give shape to with your own hands.”

“Umu, you understand well, Johan!” Archer remarked with a nod of her head, her grin softening to a smile. “Besides, no matter how aged our opponent, we shall see them defeated.”

The redheaded Devil just shook her head, exasperation crawling across her face. “Your deaths are on your own heads.”

In tandem, Trent, Johan, and Astolfo declared, “Oi, oi, don’t just kill us off like that.”

-x-x-x-

In a darkened room, lit only by a computer screen that was awash with colour, its occupant chuckling to herself as she tapped away at a bastardized combination of a fight pad, a keyboard, and a mouse. Her chuckling echoed darkly through the room as she reached out with an orange-stained finger and thumb and grabbed an extra-cheesy Don’trito from a bowl near her.

Then, the door to her room burst open, the harsh light of day searing her eyes as Trent and Johan booted the door open and surged in. A pair of muskets were held before them, barrels in the air as they cocked them by the underbarrel. In sync, they roared, “FBI, OPEN UP!”

The chip fell to the floor and shattered as she stumbled backwards, knocking over an open can of Valley Moist. Shrieking, she shuffled back, shielding her eyes against the light. “I didn’t do anything, I yakuswear! It’s the hontruth! You’ve got the chigawrong girl! Tasukesave me, Gya-kun!”


	9. Chapter Nine: The Princess and the Pog

Chapter Nine: The Princess and the Pog

In the depths of Himeji Castle, one of the grand halls had been prepared for guests, cushions laid out before a wide and finely crafted wooden table. Origami creatures moved to and fro, setting out tea and snacks for the guests while the owner of the castle attempted to look distinguished at the head of the table. Unfortunately for her, she was very clearly drinking her gamer fuel from an oversized plastic cup while a bowl of triangular chips sat before her – and based on the fingerprints she was leaving everywhere, they were dangerously cheesy. Beside her, there was a cardboard box with a glass of its own gamer fuel, an extremely long straw connecting the two, and the liquid clearly being drunk.

On one side of the table, Nobu, Trent, and Astolfo had amassed a pile of cushions, upon which they were lounging, the sole Master enjoying a plate of cookies. Charlie had been caught by his Servant and was sitting in his lap, unable to escape the pinket’s grip. Beside them were the rest of their group, with Ryoma and Johan sitting on another cushion and a beanbag chair respectively. Oryou, as ever, was floating above her husband, and having emptied her tupperware container of frogs she was now gnawing absently on one end of a horribly cheese-stained body pillow.

On the other side, finally, there were two of the Devils from the earlier meeting, having introduced themselves in the interim. Akeno Himejima was a voluptuous raven-haired young lady sipping primly at a cup of tea, her mouth pulled into an enigmatic smile while her maroon eyes ticked over them. The other was Rias Gremory, her arms crossed beneath her own sizable chest while she looked between the newcomers and the two at the head of the table.

The cardboard box rattled, and a squeaky voice spoke hesitantly from within, “Um...prez? W-who’re all these p-people?”

“Guests, Gasper, apparently they’ve some business with you and Assassin,” Rias replied, her gaze settling on the Servant in question as she loudly bit into a chip.

The Specter of Himeji Castle twitched and her bespectacled gaze flickered between the members of the group, lingering on Nobu, Oryou, and to a lesser extent, Ryoma.

Taking a loud bite of his cookie, Trent remarked, “Honestly, I think she’s pretty lucky. Last time we had to deal with a non-aligned Assassin, Carmy turned her into a puddle.”

Osakabehime paled.

Johan’s hand impacted his face. “I swear, I can’t take you anywhere, especially now that you’ve got an enabler instead of a wrangler.” 

Looking his compatriot dead in the eyes, the blond let out a harsh sigh. “I miss my wife, Johan. I miss her a lot.”

Johan paused, gave a nod, then replied, “That’s fair, I suppose. Still…” He turned to the bat NEET. “To be clear, that  _ wasn’t  _ a threat. Trent’s just got a tongue made of razor blades and he’s not afraid to use it.”

“I was just remarking on how great it is that we don’t have to be enemies!” the Canuck petulantly argued, writhing about and sinking further into the cushion pile. “Besides, if we were dealing with Semitruck, then there’d be the possibility of  _ another _ race war, alongside how angry she always made Smoldred!”

Putting her hand on her cheek and tilting her head, Akeno remarked, “My, my, you certainly are  _ experienced _ ; perhaps we should see about comforting you while the missus is away.”

“Young lady, I don’t even know your name, besides, getting on  _ Carmilla’s _ bad side is always a great way to sign your own morgue ticket,” Trent replied dryly, his mouth pulling into a wry smile as he ignored how the cardboard box jerked back. “Then again, we aren’t married, and all the jokes came from my end in terms of our adoption of Charlie…which makes Astolfo my son-in-law…” Looking over at the now happily waving paladin, who was beaming like a loon, the blond just shook his head.

“I can’t believe your son married into royalty,” Johan remarked, an amused smile on his face. “But I think we’re getting off-track here. Rider?” He turned the floor over to his Servant.

Ryoma tilted his hat down and let out a sigh. “I’d have liked to have Saber here for this as well, but I suppose we’ll have to rely on Sir Blackmore’s shared history with them to prevent hostilities—”

Both Trent and Johan broke into laughter, though Johan at least had the decency to cover it up with a fake coughing fit that quickly became a  _ real  _ coughing fit.

Ryoma shot them a  _ look,  _ and Oryou took a wad of chewed-up, cheese stained cotton out of her maw and threw it. The dripping mass soared majestically over her husband’s head, splitting in two in midair and finally impacting the back of each of their heads like a pair of spitballs fired by a giant.

“No interrupting Ryoma,” Oryou said with an imperious scowl.

Johan’s head rocked forward and he made a sound of disgust as the moist gunk slowly slid off of him and hit the floor with a plop. With a noise of utter disdain, Trent scooped the refuse off his head and threw it back at the dragon, who sharply exhaled from her nostrils, firing a small burst of purple haze that enveloped the projectile mid-air and promptly dissolved it.

It was at that moment that Osakabehime realized just what Oryou was eating. “ HEY! That’s my tokubetspecial Limited Edition Piku Piku Prince Twink-chama body pillow!”

The dragon woman regarded the Assassin with an unflinching gaze, then replied (after swallowing another mouthful of cotton), “It is a suitable tribute for Oryou, little Yokai.”

Osakabehime’s eyes bulged in realization. “I know you! Kiyohi-chan warned me about you; you’re that yandere dragon that fell in love with the Hereiiyu of Restoration!”

“That’s rich, coming from  _ her _ of all people,” Trent sniped, wiping one of his hands on a cushion, which he yote from the pile once his hand was clean.

Okkie raised a finger, then lowered it. “Okay, fair, but Kiyohi-chan isn’t exactly self-aware.” She shook her head. “But that’s not important! Why’re you all ganging up on poor little me? I didn’t do nanimonothing!”

“Nothing, you say?” Trent asked, his eyebrows pulling up towards his hairline. “You literally got Himeji Castle on national television. Besides, we aren’t here to bully you or anything. Mostly just shake you down for info, make sure you don’t try and fuck with us in the long run.”

Ryoma cleared his throat and leaned forward, pressing the tips of his gloved fingers together. “Though, as ever, his phrasing gives me conniptions, Sir Blackmore is  _ technically  _ correct. The fact of the matter is that none of us know where the Grail that is sustaining us even is, on account of the Grail system, and indeed the Throne itself, not being native to this  _ world _ .”

“Excuse me, but you’re definitely going to need to explain that further,” Rias interjected, one of her hands raised in protest. “Not being native to this world? A Throne? Grails? We desperately need an explanation, as Assassin gave us nothing.”

Looking and realizing that this was rapidly on its way to becoming a monologue, Nobu flailed around and rolled off her cushion pile. “Aight, later, I ain’t sticking around for a spiel of shit I already know. Maybe go see about finding some clues on where Kokabiel is.”

“I’m in,” Trent declared, following the Archer to the ground. “I’ll send up some familiars, see if I can’t create a network.”

Somersaulting down the cushion mountain, Astolfo cheered, “Ooh, ooh, me and Master’re coming too, papa!” His face became deathly serious as he declared, “We need to wash the Hippogriff.”

Charlie looked ready to embrace death.

Johan sighed. “I guess I’ll stay here with Rider to cover the stuff on the Magus end of things. I’d tell you to keep a low profile, but there’s not a chance in hell that happens even if you tried.”

Nobu let out a boisterous laugh. “You learn quickly, Johan. Indeed, in times like this, it simply cannot be helped!”

The Demon Archer’s words did nothing to reassure anyone, least of all Rias.

-x-x-x-x-x-

With an entire flock of crows in the air, Trent was eventually able to locate the wayward Saber, who along with her Master, a trio of Devils, and the exorcists from earlier. Deciding that it would probably be a terrible idea to just let them go it alone, especially with Kokabiel in the area, he sent a messenger to Johan while he and Nobu went to link up with the group.

They found themselves outside a rather decrepit church, its doors kicked in and nothing at all in the way of warding. Setting a small murder atop the steeple, the pair sauntered in, their arms raised as they shouted, “Yayeet, how it be, nuggies?”

Xenovia whirled, her hawk-like gaze fixing on the Canuck and narrowing. “So you’ve come, mage. Here to spout more heresy, or do you plan on impeding our search?”

“Neither, nerd. I came to check in with Mo, see how she’s doing,” Trent answered, putting his hands in his pockets.

Proudly puffing her chest out, Nobu chortled, “Indeed, were it time to speak of heresy, that would be my job!”

Xenovia stamped her foot on the ground, but the thunderous expression and the way the concrete cratered beneath her heel made it seem perhaps less petulant than it would have otherwise. “You speak as though heresy is some manner of fun hobby for you! Were our business not more dire, I would be of a mind to smite you where you stand!”

At this, her twintailed partner walked over, a pep in her step. “Xenovia, you’re always so  _ serious,  _ so fire and brimstone! You gotta relax a bit, go with the flow. Think of it as a test from Him, eh?”

Xenovia then rounded on her partner, the fire in her eyes finding a new target. “That’s the trouble with you, Irina! You claim I take things too seriously, but the way I see it, you don’t take things seriously  _ enough _ !”

“You know, you claim to be able to smite me,” the Archer remarked calmly, all her previous cheer replaced with iron. “But someone who clings to another for answers, begs them for strength while relying not on their own power…” Flames licked at her shoulders and through her hair, her eyes outshining them all the same. “There’s not a chance in any of the six Hells that you’ll be able to reach up to the bottom of my boots.”

“Yo, what’s happening out here?” The brunet Devil from earlier stepped out of the backroom, looking in between the two groups.

Seeing this, Trent pointed directly at the blunette and roared, “Aha! Who’s the heretic now?!”

Xenovia reddened and rounded on him, though one eye was kept trained on the woman on fire. “T-that’s different!” she insisted. “We made a deal with a  _ dragon _ , not a Devil like you heathen spellcasters!”

“We didn’t make any deals with any demons though?” the blond remarked, reaching up to scratch at his chin. “Besides, we all know that’s not how anything works. But, then again, I suppose that being a member of the clergy is all about finding loopholes.”

Leaning over and murmuring in her Master’s ear, Nobunaga asked, “So, I heard from the Spaniards, but do they actually go down on little boys?” Rather than answering aloud and risking the fury of the Exorcists, Trent just wagged his hand uncommitally and made a face of disgust.

Before the Exorcists could puff up, the Devil interjected, “Oh hey, you’re one of those guys who know Kiba’s new girlfriend! I’m Issei Hyoudou!”

“If you’re smart, kid, you won’t say that anywhere that Mo can hear,” Trent advised, doing everything he could to hide the pain creeping into his features. “Also, don’t bring up her mother. Or her father. Or her gender. Or—you know what, I’ll clue you in later. I’m Trent, this is Archer.”

“Yo!” Nobunaga called, giving a wave as she let the flames on her body die down. 

Blinking in confusion, Issei crossed his arms as he asked, “But what’s wrong with it? I mean, sure, her boobs are pretty small, but tha—”

“I’m going to stop you there for your own safety,” Trent interrupted, holding a hand out in front of him. “Just add that to the pile of things not to bring up around her.”

“Man, she’s gonna be hard to talk to then…” the brunet muttered, his brow creasing as he descended into thought.

Before anyone could say anything else, the subject of the conversation walked in, her Master as well as the white-haired Devil girl (who'd been introduced as Koneko Toujou following the meeting) trailing behind her. Giving the trio a nod, Trent looked to Issei and mouthed for him to watch.

Looking Mordred dead in the eye, he spoke before she could. “So, whose tits do you like better, Mordred, Blue or Twintail?”

Stopping in place, and pausing in her movement to deride the blond, the Saber looked over the Exorcists. After a moment of study as she ignored their scandalized looks, she declared, “Blue. Twintail makes me think too much of the puppy, and I ain’t falling into that train of logic. Too many people after that ass to even consider.”

Trent nodded sagely, and then looked to Issei, who was grinning like a loon.

Koneko directed a distinctly unamused and rather dead gaze between Trent, Issei, and Mordred each in turn. After a long moment, she remarked in an apathetic tone, "Perverts, all of you."


	10. Chapter Ten: Call Me Iscariot

Chapter Ten: Call Me Iscariot

As Ryoma and Johan’s explanations on the bare basics of the Grail System and Servants began to wind down, a crow burst into the grand halls of Himeji Castle, sparks trailing across its wings. Fixing its gaze on Johan, its beak opened and Trent’s voice echoed from within. “SKRAW! Hey Johan, I found Smoldred, as well as the exorcists, and five of the Devil kids! We’re going hunting for the other pieces of the Shitscalibur! SKRAW!”

Tilting its head to the side and ignoring the now gaping crowd, the familiar then burst into a pile of feathers.

“At least he didn’t have it defecate on someone’s head this time,” Johan remarked dryly as he stood and flexed his own magic. As Devils, a Yokai, a revolutionary and a dragon looked on, the albino utilized his mastery over ectoplasm to create a broom and dustpan, then proceeded to sweep up the mess Trent’s familiar made and dump it into a nearby waste bin, which was spilling its contents on the floor.

He then looked to Rias. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but didn’t the exorcists explicitly request that your people stay out of their search? Wonder what made them change their mind…”

“I’m far more interested in just what possessed those four to go against a direct order,” the redhead replied, her arms crossed below her chest as her index finger tapped away at her elbow.

“I can’t pretend that I know their circumstances,” Johan said, slumping back into his beanbag chair, “but I’d have to have been blind to not notice how much anger Mordred’s Master seemed to have for the exorcists and those…’Shitscaliburs’, as Trent labeled them.”

Rias’s eyes slowly shut, her head shaking slowly as she murmured, “Oh Yuuto…” After a few moments, her eyes opened and she looked to her second in command. “Akeno, it looks like we’ll need to mobilize in order to find those five and keep them out of trouble. Can you contact Sona and see about getting them involved? If I’m correct, the final member of their group is likely to be one of her Peerage.”

“Of course, Madam President,” the raven-haired Devil declared, giving a slight bow as she pulled her phone from her pocket.

Johan glanced to Ryoma, who met his eyes and gave a nod. “All things considered,” Johan said, leaning forward, “we probably ought to move out as well. Leaving aside the particularly dangerous individual our group is here for, it wouldn’t sit right with me to just sit around while other people do all the work.”

Next to the Assassin sitting at the head of the table, who was mostly ignoring the byplay, the cardboard box shifted, the straw leading into it coming free. “Uh, Assassin, we, shouldn’t we do something? I mean, we can, r-right?”

Osakabehime glanced at her Master—or rather, the cardboard box he was currently occupying—like he was some kind of Alloy Cog Liquid character. Even though she couldn’t see the little dhampir’s face, she  _ knew _ he was pouting. “You’re lucky you’re kawaiiute,” she grumbled, barely audible, before speaking up.  _ “Fiiiine _ , Maa-chan. I can send out some shikigami to scout the city.” She pushed up her glasses and shook a finger at Schrödinger’s NEET. “But I expect proper compensation, you wakunderstand?”

“O-of course, Assassin,” answered the box as it shifted again, this time looking to Rias. “Uh, Pres, A-Assassin says she’ll help us if you get the special Mexico Macarena Valley Moist.”

The lead Devil paused, her eyes closing as she took a deep breath. She then released it, and nodded. “That’s acceptable to me, Gasper. Just make sure she doesn’t drink it all in one day.”

Okkie pouted, but notably didn’t say anything. Johan had a sneaking suspicion this wasn’t the first time she’d been called out for gremlin habits, and he also suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

Thankfully, that wasn’t his problem to deal with.

As Johan got back to his feet and stretched the kinks out of his neck, he wondered just what sorts of people they’d have to deal with during this treasure hunt.

…

Knowing their luck, it’d probably be someone absurd, wouldn’t it?

-x-x-x-

“WELL HELLOOOOO! DEVIL SCUM AND SLUTTY BITCH NUNS!” screamed the manic, silver-haired man wielding a long, asymmetrical blade with a diamond cut in the center of the guard. Waving it around, he continued, “Time for you all to meet Lil’Rapi here, and then, I’m gonna rape your corpses on top of the shitty Devils!”

“Freed!” the Devils and Exorcists chorused in unison, sliding into battle positions, and readying their weapons.

Looking the figure over, Trent nudged Archer and remarked, “Is this manlet trying to threaten us?”

Rather than answering, Nobu just materialized a cavalcade of muskets and started blasting. The diminutive man blurred out of the way of the shots, laughing madly and blowing raspberries all the while. 

Nobunaga clicked her tongue in irritation and flicked a hand, the muskets rearranging themselves into a different formation.“Even if he is, Master, we should do away with the pierrots, so that our true prey might take the stage.”

A crack of thunder echoed and red lightning arced in front of the fake priest, Mordred stepping forward as a snarl left her throat. “This one’s mine, bastards. I can  _ smell _ those shitty fake Excaliburs on him.”

Lifting his hands up, Trent stepped back, while the Archer let out a hum, and studied the knight. She then followed her Master’s example and allowed Saber free passage, her weapons disappearing in flashes of crimson flame. “Far be it from me to deny so fervent a plea. I’d be a poor ruler if I did.”

“Like I give a fuck!” Mordred roared as she surged forward, Clarent coming down over her head as she tried to cleave Freed in twain.

Dancing to the side, the manlet let out a hysterical titter as he stuck his tongue out, wagging it at the Servant. For his troubles, he caught the Saber’s fist in his face, sending him ass over teakettle.

The Exorcists and Devils stepped forward, clearly intending to interfere, but a curtain of flame flashed into existence between them and the melee. Tilting her head to the side and looking at them, Nobunaga declared, “Do you think I would just allow you to interfere?”

“Freed is a Fallen Exorcist, and he has one of the Excaliburs! You’re overstepping yourself, fiend!” Xenovia growled, Durandal swinging around to point at the Servant’s face.

With a single finger, Nobu pushed the weapon out of her view and smiled viciously as her eyes burned. Taking a step forward, she loomed in the blunette’s personal space, her face shadowed to the point that her eyes were the only thing visible, crimson starbursts boring into the young lady’s eyes. Heat rolled from her mouth as red dripped down the Servant’s skull, colouring her hair.

“Listen here,  _ child _ and listen well.” A cherry of heat built up on the spot where she was touching Durandal, a faint hissing trickling below the sound of Mordred clashing with Freed. “It is neither Freed nor Saber that I am protecting. It is you and yours that I am keeping from harm, as Saber would take your skulls for latrines if you interfered.”

Xenovia was forced to crane her head back as she kept looking up, seemingly entranced by Nobunaga’s eyes, the now-taller Servant’s red locks seemingly fanning out around her like a wildfire, flames licking at her temples as though suggesting a crown. The Servant let out something akin to scoff, “Now, consider this your warning. Overstepping one’s bounds with me, the Demon King of Six Billion Worlds, is usually  _ terminal _ .”

“I—” the Exorcist worked her jaw, doing her best to speak as she shrunk away from the malignant presence threatening to burn her away.

Behind Xenovia, Issei leaned over to Saji and whispered, “Bro, I have the weirdest boner right now…”

“I know exactly why, it’s sort of like when the Pres scolds me,” the blond replied, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Besides, your interference is unnecessary,” Nobunaga remarked, straightening up and smiling, back to her usual countenance, leaving behind only the faint smell of smoke as evidence of what just occurred.

Blood dripping down his face and nose, Freed let out a high pitched shriek as slung himself at Mordred.

Almost bored, she brought her blade up and through his, sending the now useless metal spinning across the ground.

“You bitch! You broke Lil’Rapi!” Freed screeched at the blonde, reaching into his coat. “Even after all the Light that old kiddy diddler Valper juiced me up on, you had the nerve to do that? Just for that, I’m gonna torture you as I rape you to dea—”

He was cut off when Clarent buried itself in his stomach, the stone-faced Servant wielding it stepping forward as Freed’s now disembodied forearm fell to the ground, a small blade covered in a spiral of sorts held in its hand.

Mordred’s steelclad foot fell on it, grinding it to pieces as she glared at the small, wounded man. Silently, she brought her hands around, gripped his head between them, and  _ squeezed _ . With a disgusting cracking sound, Freed Selzen’s head popped like an overripe zit. Mordred shook her hands as blood, brain matter and bone fragments sloughed off of her gauntlets.

With a fluid move, she hefted the corpse and pulled a straight-bladed longsword from his coat to chuck at her Master’s feet. As the weapon dug into the ground, she declared, “As agreed, Master, that one’s yours to destroy.”

With a manic, slightly unhinged smile, Yuuto Kiba walked forward and stretched his hands out, as though in supplication. A bar of light came into being between them, rapidly elongating and distorting. As the light faded, a weapon was revealed. 

It was too big to be called a sword. Too big, too thick, too heavy, and too rough; it was more like a large hunk of iron. With a feral cry, the Knight of Gremory brought his replica of the Dragonslayer down on Excalibur Transparency, shattering both into dozens of pieces. 

For a long moment, the only sound was Kiba’s breathing, as his chest heaved with emotion and exertion. 

“Are you satisfied, Yuuto?” Rias inquired as she stepped into view, a carefully calm expression gracing her face. Beside her was a far more stern-looking Sona, while Tsubaki and Akeno stood at the ready behind them. Off to the side, Johan, Ryoma, and Oryou stood, the dragon flashing peace signs at the group.

Kiba blinked, mouth agape. “P-prez! What’re you doing here?”

“I contacted Johan when I found you guys. Imagine if we’d needed back-up and they didn’t know? It’d be a terrible mess,” Trent interjected, flashing a thumbs-up at the rest of the group he’d joined up with while the majority of them looked at him in betrayal.

Johan snorted. “The one time you try to be responsible, you sell out the secret mission. Yeah, that sounds like you.” He glanced at the headless corpse Mordred was standing over and made a face. “ _ Eeurgh _ . Lemme just…” He gestured at it, then snapped his fingers, muttering,  _ “Geistflame _ .”

The fresh ectoplasm clinging to the still cooling corpse ignited with a whoosh, far hotter than any normal flame and charring the body to ash.

Trent looked down at the ash, and then up at Johan, after a moment, he declared, “It wasn’t that bad. You remember what happened to Karna.” Taking a moment, he then added, “Hell, you missed the clean up that needed to be done when Carmy got done with that dumb bitch Reika.”

“First off, I don’t think Karna’s a fair comparison,” Johan shot back. “Having one’s heart ripped out through their dick is a pretty unusual set of circumstances.”

Ignoring the full body cringes that swept through the gathered Devils (with one notable exception) and exorcists, he continued, “And as for Reika, I’m consciously choosing  _ not _ to think about what Carmilla got up to with that psycho.”

“Ri—” The blond stopped, his brow knitting in thought.  _ “That bitch, she got on my case about feathers in the backseat, after making me clean up Reika. _ ”

At that moment, Akeno cupped her cheek and chimed in, “My, my, trouble in paradise?” Her smile widened predatorily as she gave an ominous  _ “Ufufufu” _ .

At that, Nobunaga clapped Trent on the back and gave a laugh of her own. “Worry not, Devil girl! Even if the paradises of Gods and Buddhas abandon my retainer, he will always have a place at my side in the Sixth Heaven of Desire!”


	11. Chapter Eleven: Pour One Out for Shake'n'bake

Chapter Eleven: Pour One Out for Shake’n’bake

Trent looked at the fragments of Excalibur and remarked, “You know, with every encounter we have with the shitscaliburs, I get more and more disappointed with how trash they are.” Walking forward and kicking the blade on the ground, he frowned at it, a hand coming up and tapping at his chin. “Like seriously, we went from a Last Phantasm, forged from humanity’s desire to be exalted by the fae, either wielded for the sake of protecting and safeguarding humanity’s future or by the Once and Future King...” Crouching down and picking up the blade, he turned it over in his hands. “To these things that fucking break like nobody’s business.”

In response, Mordred spat on one of the shards on the ground, her nose wrinkling.

“Excalibur was a holy sword forged by the Lord, gifted unto King Arthur for his piety and to protect humanity and the Faith,” Xenovia interjected, a thunderous expression clouding her face as her knuckles whitened from how tightly her hands were balled. “The sheer disrespect you’re showing paints your heretical ways for what they are, and He will judge you appropriately when your time comes.”

Johan turned away from the pile of ashes that used to be Freed Selzen (which Oryou was eyeing with an uncomfortable level of interest) and let out a sigh. “Can we save the castigation and catechisms for...oh, I don’t know, _never?_ Bickering and admonishing wastes valuable time that we could be using to track down whoever else might be working with Kokabiel.”

“I got a net going over Kuoh right now, looking for him,” the Canadian Master replied, standing to his full height. “Besides, for God to judge me… _he’d need to catch me first._ ”

“Ha! A good outlook, Master!” Nobunaga barked, clapping him on the back as she threw her head back, her hair flaring out behind. “But as it stands, our current predicament cannot be helped with no intel!”

At her side, Xenovia looked about ready to try pulling Durandal again, only restrained by what had occurred minutes ago.

“Perhaps the Lord Lucifer will have an idea when he arrives,” Akeno remarked, her smile seemingly growing from the byplay between Trent, Nobu, and Xenovia.

As the redheaded King squawked, Tsubaki nodded as she adjusted her glasses. “Indeed, and I’ve no doubt that Lady Leviathan will have her own ideas.”

“Wait, you’ve called two of the four Satans? This is a clear breach of our agreement!” the blue-haired Exorcist growled, one of her eyebrows twitching as she prowled forward, her shoulders shaking with rage.

Stepping forward as her smile took on an edge, Akeno chortled. “Our original agreement, maybe. But, that was before it was confirmed that Kokabiel, a veteran from the Great War was involved. The idea that we would leave the safety of ourselves and our territory in the hands of two green Exorcists in the face of such a threat is _laughable._ ” Crossing her arms beneath her sizeable chest, she added, “Maybe if the Church had sent the Violence of Heaven, we would have been willing to allow such a thing, but for you two?” Her smile became crueler as she stared down her nose at the pair.

“Not a chance in Hell.”

“As my compatriot said, the situation became one where the original terms of our agreement could not be abided. I’m sure you understand,” her fellow Queen agreed, nodding in a manner that she was sure was contrite.

Flipping the fragment of Excalibur over in his hand, Trent remarked, “Let’s be real, this essentially counts as them throwing you two from the deep end into the middle of the ocean. This is not the sort of scenario where one turns down help, I’ll tell you that for free. Do you think we turned down Achilles and Jeanne d’Arc’s help when we were taking on the fake Adam that Avicebron and Amakusa put together? No, we’d have to be stupid to do so!”

“Even if every one of those fucking squares on the Round Table were assholes, except for the puppy and Father, I would still take their help if I fucking needed it. Even that shitheel Agravain,” Mordred agreed, nodding firmly as she put her hands on her hips.

Johan nodded at that. “We’re going up against a being whose name was recorded in the Bible. If that’s not enough reason to pull out all the stops, I don’t know what _is_.”

“C-come now, Akeno, there was no need to bother my brother or the Lady Leviathan with this matter,” Rias interrupted, her mouth pulled into a grimace while a flush worked its way up her neck.

Beside her, Sona was nodding with her eyes screwed shut. “Quite, this is our territory, it’s our job to protect it, even from threats like Kokabiel.”

“Milady, while I respect your and Lady Rias’s dedication to your duties, as your Queen, it is my job to protect you from your own poor decisions,” Tsubaki declared, Akeno nodding firmly alongside her.

Both of the Kings sputtered at that, unable to refute the logic being thrown in their faces.

Trent chuckled at their reactions, adding his own two cents. “Look, there’s no shame in needing help and admitting it. Johan and I wouldn’t have survived if we hadn’t leaned on each other and our allies.”

Johan nodded sagely. “If not by the Lord Impaler’s stakes or by the sword that felled Fafnir, then the false Garden of Eden or Indra’s dart would have sure been our end, without all the allies we managed to make.”

“I see someone’s feeling chuuni,” his blond friend remarked, his eyebrows rising in amusement.

The albino snorted, raising a hand in front of his face and slowly closing it into a fist... “That’s my secret, Trent. _I’m always chunni.”_

“Well, yeah, I don’t doubt that,” the Canuck agreed, inclining his head. “Really, you can just call Uncle Vlad, Uncle Vlad. Besides, Hyde gave Karna the _deep honk_ , our lives don’t really fit that sort of mold.”

Johan dropped his chunni for a moment to shudder. “Fucking hell, don’t remind me. He might’ve been an enemy and working for a massive dumbass, but Karna didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“So fun as your babbling is, I do believe that this tangent isn’t conducive to our current circumstances,” Akeno remarked, looking entirely too curious at the mention of the deep honk.

Ryoma cleared his throat, very deliberately ignoring how his dragon wife was Hoovering up the ashes of a dead man. “Indeed. Trent, have your familiars found anything in the time you’ve been bickering?”

“Nope, only the occasional bit of money on the ground,” the blond replied.

Johan snorted. “Ah, the Shigechi strat; maybe we can start using your familiars to Harvest other useful things later.”

“Mm, we can only hope, with how fucking useful these assholes are in finding what we’re actually looking for,” the Canuck groused, his jaw moving from side to side as he looked through the eyes of his flock.

He then blinked, and declared aloud, “Anyone know if there were any tubby old priests in Kuoh? Because I got one running like the bundle in his arms is an altar boy.”

“Uh, there, there aren’t any active priests in Kuoh,” Asia answered, shyly peeking out from behind Issei as she gave Trent a disapproving look. Unfortunately for her, she looked more like a puffed up hamster than anything intimidating.

The blond, realizing that he’d upset the cute girl who was a genuinely nice and caring person, deflated slightly. He wouldn’t apologize for his joke, because he knew that it was funny, and he’d remember it.

With her hand slapped over Xenovia’s mouth, Irina asked, “Could you describe him? Maybe we would be able to recognize him.”

“Uh…” Trent let out a grunt, as his eyes narrowed, focusing on the man. “Well, he’s definitely overweight, wearing the vestments of a bishop or so, has on one of them white skull caps with his hair peeking out. He’s wearing a pince-nez and has a pencil moustache, which matches his grey hair.” Opening his eyes, he added, “Seriously, the man looks like a walking stereotype for priests.”

By this time, Irina had produced a small booklet from somewhere on her person (despite the fact that all she was wearing beneath her cloak was a skintight leather suit, but Johan wasn’t going to linger on _that_ line of thought) and started flipping through it. Once she reached a particular page, her eyes took on a dead expression, and turned it so that Trent could see it.

“This him?” she asked, deadly serious.

Taking the book in hand and studying the picture, he was about to agree when he got to the crimes section. _“Archbishop Genocide? Numerous counts of human experimentation and child murder?_ What the fuck, that’s… okay, it’s an entirely different sort of criminality than I expected, and it’s still just as heinous.”

_“Gallilei.”_ Kiba let out a sound akin to a clogged woodchipper as his eyes flashed with malice, the oversized sword once more manifesting in his hand, the flawed creation almost immediately collapsing under its own weight and half of its blade fading into magic particles.

Looking up at the Knight, Trent considered making a joke about them being old friends, or Kiba perhaps having been an altar boy under the criminal. Instead, he remarked, “So, you wanna kill this guy? I don’t think any of us would begrudge you that.”

Kiba looked up at his fellow blond and gave a feral grin. _“Oh, you have no idea.”_ He glanced at the hilt of the broken weapon he’d formed and allowed it to fade away, before properly reforming the false Dragonslayer and leaning it on his shoulder. 

“Where...where is he?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.

The Canadian chuckled as he directed his flock, small sparks of electricity crackling from their feathers as they coordinated like a synchronized swimming team and divebombed the corpulent criminal. Carefully guiding the scurrying into their general area, he smiled serenely.

“Oh, he’s on his way here.”

Looking up from the ground where Freed had once been to regard Kiba’s blade, Oryou let out a hum and then remarked dreamily, “Oryou likes sashimi, even if it isn’t frog.”

Unsurprised by the dragon’s casual reference to eating people, Trent looked to Ryoma and inquired, “So, have you tried a Kermit kigurumi in the bedroom? I’m sure it would rile her up.” After a moment, he added, “If you need someone to do his voice, I can record a few lines for you.”

Ryoma gave Trent a look that contained all the world’s exasperation, and replied, “I’d rather you Kermit seppuku.”

Quirking his eyebrows up, the blond adopted a surprisingly good approximation of the muppet’s voice. “Mm, tough sell, eh? Well, I understand, it’s not easy being green. Especially with a strong lady with a hankering for frog legs.”

At this, Oryou raised her head to make eye contact with Trent. Without breaking eye contact, she retrieved a frog from her tupperware container and took a massive, gory bite out of the frog’s crotch area, slurping its intestines down like spaghetti.

“Oryou doesn’t approve of netorare,” she declared ominously, frog guts dangling from her lips.

Immediately, Trent tried to explain that wasn’t the thrust of his joke. Besides, he was comparing Oryou to Miss Piggy! That was a huge compliment in his books.

Watching this, Mordred snorted, “Feh, the bastard ain’t the sort to imitate that asshole Lancelot, 

too weird about his vampire biddy.”


	12. Chapter Twelve: Miss Me When I’m Dead

Chapter Twelve: Miss Me When I’m Dead

The courtyard outside the church had quieted with the egress of Kiba, Mordred and the Exorcists, all of them intent on confronting the excommunicated priest. Well, Kiba and the two junior nuns were, Mordred was more or less accompanying them out of the need to protect her Master. It left the groups of Johan, Trent and their Servants, as well as the cadre of Devils, who were still debating the necessity of contacting their older siblings.

While  _ that _ circular debate was going on, Ryoma cleared his throat and motioned for Johan, Trent, and Nobu to follow him into the church, Oryou floating along beside him. The albino followed his partner without protest, while Trent and Nobu took a moment to share a curious look and shrug before ambling in afterwards, the Archer kicking the door shut behind her. 

Once within, the Rider glanced around the largely ruined church, then picked up a couple pews that were still in decent shape and set them down, facing one another. He sank down onto the one facing the door, tossing his hat to one side and waving wearily at the other. Oryou, sensing her hubby’s exhaustion, wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her chin atop his head, humming quietly.

The group took a seat opposite Ryoma. After a moment’s silence, Nobunaga languidly stretched out along the pew, her legs crossing as she watched the diplomat.

“So, what is it you wanted to speak on?”

Ryoma was quiet for a moment, then let out a breath. “Master, Blackmore. I perhaps overstep my bounds with this, but I feel as though it needs to be said, nonetheless.” The Hero of Reformation leaned forward, and bluntly declared, “You two need to get your shit together.”

Trent blinked, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he steepled his hands in front of his face. “Colour me curious. Explain.”

“I realise that the two of you lean on one another for support in the face of the unfamiliar, and that your back-and-forth is as much a coping mechanism as it is for your own amusement.” Ryoma paused, then continued, “But there is a time and place for such things, and in the midst of battle and in front of relative strangers is certainly not that time.”

“I mean, fair,” the blond acquiesced, bobbing his head in agreement. “But I will note: Johan and I are nuggies, we’ll do it at the drop of a hat without really thinking about it. It’s very much not a conscious thing.”

“That’s true,” Johan admitted, “but it probably  _ is  _ something we ought to work on, especially if we’re going to be immersing ourselves in the supernatural and the like.” He shook his head and glanced at Trent. “The fact that we occasionally share exactly one brain cell half the time isn’t an excuse, just an explanation.”

“In truth, I don’t really see any harm in it,” Archer remarked, reaching up to tilt the brim of her hat out of her face. “True, it might be a distraction for them, but it also puts potential enemies off their guards.” Pulling her hand away and clawing it, she grinned as she continued, “Let them play the fools, for what does it do but benefit us?”

Ryoma grimaced. “Perhaps that worked for you, Lord Oda, but they do not have the accomplishments and legacy that you did to back their actions. Foes may yet underestimate them, but by the same token, potential allies may well disdain them.” He shook his head. “Do not mistake me: there is use in such a tactic, but when our position is so tenuous, we must be exacting with our choices, lest we wind up indebted to Azazel, or Yasaka, or whoever else might attempt to become our patrons.”

“You forget, diplomat, I was not always the Scourge of Hiei. For so long, I was the Fool of Owari,” Nobunaga retorted, her wrist loosening to let her hand point towards him. “I was constantly scorned and treated as an idiot, and used both that reputation and my skills in order to crush them.” Flame danced across her digits, her gloves seemingly untouched as she continued, “Should we end up needing to square things with whoever...well, we could easily settle that, no?”

“Perhaps,” Ryoma allowed, “but the fact that we are  _ capable  _ of such does not mean that it is a desirable outcome.”

Here, Oryou cut in. “Oryou will eat anyone who threatens her happy life with Ryoma, but she would rather not have to eat  _ too _ many people. Oryou’s still watching her figure, you know?”

“Honestly, Nobu…” Trent interjected, his gaze shifting to look at her from the corner of his eyes. “Rider has a very good point, we need to shape up a fair bit.” Johan nodded in agreement.

The Archer shrugged, the fire disappearing from her hand as she remarked, “Well, I suppose it just can’t be helped.”

-x-x-x-

Following the cheese-dust trail left behind by one of Osakabehime’s familiars, the united group of Devils, Servants and magi came upon Kiba standing across from the priest they had identified earlier, a cavalcade of glowing children surrounding them. The exorcists and Mordred stood awkwardly outside of the gathering, gazes wandering as they tried and failed to figure out where they should and shouldn’t be looking, while Valper babbled about something being impossible.

Even as the group arrived, Astolfo and Charlie came upon the scene from the opposite direction, their respective hairdos conspicuously wet and tousled.

Sauntering up to stand beside the Saber, Trent leaned over and stage-whispered, “What’s with the radioactive preschool escapees?”

“They’re Master’s comrades, the ones who died back when they were being used by the fat priest,” the blonde replied, her arms crossed over her chest plate as she watched the scene. “I don’t really get the hubbub, though. Something about him needing to forgive himself? It’s stupid.”

The Canadian Master hummed, and explained, “It’s like how you feel about what Morgan’s curse did.”

Mordred’s nose wrinkled and she turned her head to the side, spitting at the ground. She missed, and left a gob of phlegm on Charlie’s shoe as he moved to stand with them. The homunculus blinked down at the effluvia, and let out a sigh.

Looking back up at the tableau, he remarked, “I think I understand. It’s...it’s the  _ guilt _ , of having survived while they didn’t. He could never forgive himself for it. I, I sometimes feel the same, about all those who were unable to escape while I am allowed to live freely.” Closing his eyes, the ashen-haired young man shook his head. “It’s not something that can easily be forgotten, or moved past. Perhaps, this is the catharsis he’s chased for so long.”

Trent blinked at the homunculus, and then pulled his phone from his pocket, silently adding a note to tell Carmilla that he was really proud of how insightful his adoptive son is.

As the Canuck slid his phone back into his pocket, the spirits of the children began to fade, light swirling from their forms and coalescing around Kiba. The Knight looked down at his hands, tears shimmering in his eyes, and then clenched them into fists. A bar of light and shadow was born between his hands, gathering into the shape of a blade.

The sword was a simple one, a gladius-like longsword bearing a silver blade and minimal decoration. Despite its simplicity, though, the weapon drew in every eye present. How could it not? The paradoxical aura of holy and demonic energy present within the weapon was palpable even to the least trained among them, yet the weapon stubbornly retained its form.

“I will become a sword,” Yuuto Kiba intoned. “One that carries the wishes and hopes of my comrades.

“Balance Breaker: Sword of Betrayer.”

Leaning back over to Mordred, Trent murmured, “So, did you inspire him, or did he just steal one of your swords?”

“Feh, of course I inspired him, I’m the best there ever was,” the knight grunted as she nodded at her Master’s valiant form. “Be amazed, asshole, I raised that swordsman to where he is now.”

“That’s a blatant lie!” Rias interjected, glaring at the blonde as she waved her finger at the Servant. “You only just came into Kiba’s life, I’m not allowing you to claim such a thing!”

Mordred just snorted. “He named it after me, not you.”

With an exuberant noise, Astolfo pulled the two into a hug, and exclaimed, “Aw, c’mon, you two can both be his moms! I’m sure he’d really like that!”

As the Knight of Betrayal lashed out to grab the pinket by the chin, they were cut off by Valper letting out a horrified screech, the priest’s face twisting in horror and shock.

“I-impossible! A-a holy  _ and _ demonic sword? In the hands of a filthy Devil!? The two antithetical elements cannot possibly be contained together, least of all by a heathen!”

Kiba ignored his ranting and stalked forward, his blade glinting with holy moonlight and infernal sunlight alike.

A look of rapturous realization came over the Genocide Archbishop’s face and he let out a broken, mad laugh as he toppled onto his back. “Of course. OF COURSE! How could I have been so blind? The breaking of the Excaliburs should have been proof enough, but this truly does prove it!”

As the Knight of Gremory loomed over Valper Galilei, the corpulent man squawked, “In the Great War, not just the Original Satans, but even our holy Father was—”

It happened in an instant. Even a bolt of lightning would have seemed slow by comparison.

And somehow, Mordred was faster still.

A great, tumuscent, crackling pillar of light had slammed through the priest, annihilating his torso. The blow would have caught Kiba, had it not been for his Servant’s intervention, throwing him from the blast radius.

A calm, almost bored voice called out from above. “Goodness, you really are incapable of accomplishing anything I set before you, Galilei.”

A thin, pale man with elfin features and jet black hair reclined upon a chair as he floated above them, looking down his nose at the priest who was rapidly becoming a corpse. 

“You really can’t get good help anywhere these days, can you?” Kokabiel asked rhetorically with a sigh. “I suppose if you want something done right, you must do it yourself.”

The cadre’s gaze moved from the corpse and a bullet cut through his mane of hair, the Fallen’s head dipping forward to dodge the attack.

Nobu clicked her tongue as she kept her musket trained on him, watching him with an uninterested stare.

Languidly, a long-fingered hand came up to touch the burnt ends of his otherwise immaculate hair. The Fallen let out a curious hum. “Hoh? Curious, most curious indeed. Such nostalgic fires…” Kokabiel’s austere face twisted into an animalistic glare. “So familiar that it makes me want to  _ vomit. _ ”

His violent, violet eyes fixed on Nobunaga squarely. “Just who are you,  _ little girl _ , that Mara’s Flames of Sin bow to your call?”

“A little girl, am I?” the Fool of Owari asked in reply, looking down over her form, before shrugging. Flames consumed her form, and she stepped out moments later, taller, her hair burning crimson while form fitting armour glowed from the fires burning around her. An armory formed in the air around her as she met his gaze.

Whipping her arm out, a katana with a stylistic cut down the center of its blade appeared in her hand, and she roared, a gleeful smile on her face. “I am Oda Nobunaga! The Demon King of Six Billion Worlds! And I assure you, when I’m done with you, you’ll be burning with the corpse of your father!”

The laugh started low, as a barely audible giggle. It grew, though, until the very air seemed to shake with Kokabiel’s exuberant mania. As he rose from his chair, it disappeared, and from his back burst ten wings that seemed spun from shadow. As his cackles subsided, he spread his arms out to either side of him and leaned forward.

“I am  _ oh so eager  _ to see you try,” the cadre crooned, his voice somewhere between mockery and climax, “but we  _ must _ have a proper stage.” He glanced at the rows of residential houses surrounding them.

“Unless, of course, you would prefer endangering the lives of your  _ precious _ constituents,” he simpered at Rias and Sona, the ecstasy vanishing from his voice and leaving mockery alone in its place.

“You wouldn’t dare!” the redheaded Devil hissed, her very expression dripping with hatred as black energy crawled around her clawed hands.

Nobunaga burst out laughing, her voice echoing through the night. “Do it then! Slaughter them all, Watcher of the Stars! Set these young Devils’ hearts ablaze with hatred, while giving me an opportune moment to shoot you down!”

Kokabiel let out a moan that was  _ barely  _ PG-13 and reached out to Nobu with both hands. “Ah, Demon King, you tempt me greatly. Not since the Great War have I felt so moved by an opponent!” 

He sighed. “But I  _ must  _ have my stage. Where better to string up the violated corpses of the Satans’ precious siblings than from the walls of their academy?”

“Kokabiel, I understand, I truly do.” The now-redheaded Demon King chortled, fire burning through her hair as she used her free hand to gesture across the town. “I would suggest that we could use the entire town as our stage, using the danger to help these whelps understand the cruelty of the world...but, I am a generous and magnanimous being. Go, Watcher of the Stars, prepare your stage, for your glorious death awaits!”

Beside her, Trent looked at her in utter bafflement, shaking his head as he muttered, “God damn it, Nobu…”

With a joyful, near-orgasmic cackle, the Watcher of the Stars vanished in a whirl of feathers, his giddiness hanging in the air like a funeral bell.

The Avenger smiled, her katana disappearing in a burst of flame as she crossed her arms and shook her head sadly. “I’m going to miss him when he’s dead.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen: The Demon King Dances

**Chapter Thirteen: The Demon King Dances**

The air crackled with power as energy rippled around the Devil Heiresses as they invaded the Demon King of Six Billion Worlds’ personal space, fury burning in their eyes. What looked to be void licked at Rias’s hair as she seethed, “Set the stage? _Set the stage?_ How _dare_ you call our territory a stage for Kokabiel, when he’s going to try to slaughter the townspeople if we don’t stop him!”

“All the world’s a stage, little girl. It all depends on how we dance on it,” Nobunaga retorted while casually slapping out a spark of nothingness. Reaching out with a single hand and tilting up the redhead’s chin, she continued, “That just means we need to call the curtains on his performance before he can get anywhere.”

Reddening at the closeness, Gremory jerked away as she hissed, “No! I will not just take your flippancy! These are my people, they’re under my protection, and you’ve endangered them horribly!”

“Honestly, you act like I’ve burned most of it to the ground,” the Avenger remarked, giving her own flame-crowned head a shake as she rolled her crimson eyes.

A hand landed on her shoulder, her Master standing behind her and looking completely haggard. “Nobu, I love you, you’re great. But, you are so completely in the wrong here. If I didn’t know for a fact that it would’ve required two Command Seals, I would’ve ordered you to shoot Kokopuffs down right there.”

“Aye,” Johan chimed in. “I might agree with most of your attitudes, but taunting Kokabiel to lay waste to the town and slaughter innocents?” The albino shook his head. “I can’t abide that, even if nothing ultimately came of it.”

The redhead looked to her fellow Servants, her brow creasing ever-so slightly as she asked, “The three of you understand, don’t you? My reasons for doing this.”

“Ah? Hell no. If you’re gonna kill someone, then fucking kill them, don’t make it complicated,” Mordred answered immediately, crossing her arms as she watched the Avenger.

“While I would perhaps put it more tactfully than that,” Ryoma added, “I concur with Saber. While civilian casualties may occur in war, such a thing is an undesirable tragedy, not an easily-dismissible necessity.” He spread his hands. “Furthermore, this Japan is not the Japan you sought to conquer, Lord Nobunaga. Both the Moonlit World and the mundane world are in a time of _peace_ , tenuous or not.”

Oryou bobbed up and down behind the Rider, nodding. “It’s better to finish your meal quickly so you can do other things.”

“I mean, I get wanting to have a big cool, blowout of a fight, buuuut we can’t just let him kill a bunch of innocent people, that’s totally _not_ heroic!” Astolfo exclaimed as he gathered his Master in his arms and spun about.

The redheaded Servant grunted and shook her head unsatisfied with how she’d been answered. “Not a single one of you are any help.”

“Don’t act put out! You’ve put so many people in danger,” Rias roared, poking the taller redhead in the chest. There was a brief moment where she turned to look at Trent and demanded, “And what do you mean ‘Command Seals?’ What are those supposed to be, and why didn’t you use them to make her kill Kokabiel if you believe she could have done it?”

Holding up his hand to showcase the skull and crossed guns emblazoned on the back of his hand, the blond answered, “These boys. Basically, you can use them to give an absolute order. But, depending on the will of the Servant and their skills, they can resist them pretty well.”

“Then why didn’t you use them?” Sona interjected, doing her very best to put on a facade of serenity.

“Because I only have three, and as I said, it would probably take _two_ to have Nobu comply,” Trent explained, carefully pointing to each part of his Seals. “And, if I did use them all, Nobu could then just rip my spine out for making her follow commands that she didn't want to follow.”

“Worry not, Master, I would take your skull as a chalice, as you’ve amused me so,” the Avenger remarked, raising a hand magnanimously.

Looking at her, her Master just shook his head and looked back at the Devils. “See, this is what I’m talking about. It’d happen. It wouldn’t be great.”

“And Assassin didn’t tell us _any_ of this.” Grinding her teeth together, the Gremory Heiress looked about ready to go nuclear.

Trent and Johan shared a wry look, and the blond sighed, “That… that doesn’t really surprise me. Okki is… well, in my own idiom, she’s a nuggie. To clarify further she’s kind of a knucklehead who just wants to live a quiet life.”

“Yeah, she’s a gremlin NEET who wants to avoid doing work for as long as possible, as much as possible,” Johan added. “It’s no wonder she wouldn’t want you to know that you could make her clean up her Valley of Defilement with one simple trick.”

“That—” Rias stopped, took a breath, counted to ten mentally, and then nodded. “Right, Okay. I will see to disciplining Assassin later. That and the fact that you apparently have one of Japan’s most infamous historical figures as your familiar,” she finished while pointing at Trent. Looking back over the group at large, the Heiress steeled her expression and ground out.

“Let’s go kill one of the strongest Fallen alive.”

-x-x-x-

Kuoh Academy was essentially locked down through the sheer number of seals and barriers put up around it, which made sense to the group at large. They knew it would be necessary for the sake of keeping Kokabiel’s devastation from spilling out into the town.

Things took a decidedly strange turn when they stepped into the barriers, to the sight of Kokabiel staked to the ground by spears of ice, parts of his body seemingly erased from existence. His one-resplendent obsidian wings were mangled beyond repair, the five on his left reduced to frozen stumps while the five on his right terminated in too-clean wounds that looked as if they’d been carved away on an atomic level.

As if to juxtapose the image; on either side of him were a short black-haired girl in a magical girl outfit with ice trailing off of her wand, and a tall redheaded man with pauldrons ripped straight out of the forty-first millenium. Even more concerning was the sheer rage etched into their faces as they menaced their hostage.

The magical girl slapped the Fallen hard enough to knock some teeth loose as she roared, “Where are the children?! _Where are they?!_ ”

Trent’s lips pursed, completely unsure as to what to say as everything they’d been expecting had gone out the window. He looked to his compatriots and asked, “Has…has there been a spate of missing kids, or something?”

“N-not to my knowledge,” Sona answered, blinking in surprise at the sheer level of violence that her sister was resorting to.

The rest of the Devils were just as confused, looking to each other for answers, to find none.

The two torturers turned at the realization that people had arrived, their expressions shifting from their rictuses of rage to concern. Using the distraction, Kokabiel broke free, lurching forward, past the duo in a blast of Light as he tried to charge Nobunaga.

Nothingness and ice ripped out behind him, aiming to cut him down, only to be burned away by crimson flames. The husk of Kokabiel’s body had been snatched up in the hand of a giant flaming skeleton, and he made no noise as its grip slowly tightened and the fire consumed him.

Papiyas loomed behind Nobunaga, its titanic form shadowing the group, and she let out a sigh as the ashes of her would-be foe blowing away in a breeze. “So long, Watcher of the Stars, it seems that our battle wasn’t meant to be.”

Though he’d been surprised by what had just happened, the redheaded man strode forward, his expression carefully neutral. His expression lightened slightly at the sight of Rias, but he kept up his professional persona as he declared, “Ma’am, I’m rather cross with you, I must admit. Our interrogation of that man was not complete.”

“Missing children, was it?” the Demon King of Six Billion Worlds replied, her summoned skeleton disappearing in a rush of fire. “That seems rather at odds with his plans and how he acted.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” asked the magical girl as she slid to her comrade’s side on a rapidly-disappearing path of ice. “And just who are you, anyway?”

“Archer, the woman who had been planning to fight Kokabiel to the death here. Who are you two?” Nobu replied, contrition taking hold of her features as she turned to look at Trent. “You were correct, Master, I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“Glad to hear it, Archer. Maybe you’ll remember next time,” the blond shot back, exasperated by what was happening, and more than a little bit unhappy at having to look at the mangled Fallen. Sure, he’d seen worse when cleaning up after Carmilla had indulged herself in Reika, but it didn’t make it any better.

The Archer shrugged. “Well, we’ll see if it can be helped.” She then turned back to the pair and declared, “So, you mentioned something about children. Tell us more.”

At this, the man frowned and crossed his arms. “Of late, a number of children have begun to go missing from the Underworld. Never ones of high standing, mind you, but every child is a rare blessing to Devilkind.” Gesturing to himself, he added, “Apologies for the late introduction, I am Rias’s older brother and one of the four Satans, Sirzechs Lucifer.”

“And I’m So-tan’s wonderful beloved older sister, Magical Girl Miracle Levia☆tan!” The magical girl proclaimed with a peace sign and a wink that let out genuine glitter. After a moment, her countenance sobered.

“When we heard the big mean Cadre was coming to try and hurt our precious little siblings, we _had_ to come and teach him a lesson.”

“So, similarity in what was happening,” Trent murmured, rubbing at his chin as he dissected the reasoning. “And they haven’t turned up, anywhere?”

The woman shook her head, twintails bouncing. “Not a trace. Only commonality between the kidnappings was some strange gas stuff left behind. Aju-kun’s still analyzing it.”

“Dunno about any gas, but kidnapping children…” the blond Master trailed of a grimace taking hold of his face as he considered the options laid out before them. Looking to Johan, he asked, “You think it could be Greatest Cool? Or maybe his Magic Pimp?”

Johan shuddered. “Holy _fuck_ , I fucking hope not. Kidnapped children are bad enough without involving That Which Man Was Not Meant To Know.”

“Care to explain further?” Archer asked, only to be met with grimaces and shrugs.

Trent let out a heavy sigh.

“How familiar are you with the writings of H.P. Lovecraft?”


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Gathering Clouds

**Chapter Fourteen: Gathering Clouds**

“While Gilles de Rais does sound like a terrifying possibility for who the kidnapper  _ could _ be,” Sirzechs remarked, steepling his fingers before him as he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair in which he sat, “you’ve neglected the thought that it could also be any number of other suspects, including those closer to home, such as the Old Satan Faction.”

The group had moved into the Occult Research Club building, the Satans taking up a pair of plush armchairs while Trent, Johan, Charlie, and their respective Servants were bunched together (or in Astolfo’s case, atop his master’s lap. And in Trent’s case, on his Servant’s lap) on a single couch. Oryou, for her part, was floating a few meters above the group.

To either side of the Satans stood their respective siblings, as well as their Queens.

In reply, Ryoma clarified, “I believe, considering the fact that the Caster class slot has yet to be taken, as well as how the circumstances apparently match Blackmore and my master’s knowledge of de Rais’ proclivities, it would still be wise to consider the possibility.  _ Especially _ if there are factions already at play who would do such a thing as well.” 

Ryoma folded his hands before him. “Without the use of a catalyst, the Servant called will be one most compatible with the summoner. And if those who summon are the sort to do such things...” The Rider trailed off leadingly.

“I was not dismissing the idea out of hand,” the redheaded Satan replied, giving a shallow nod. “Simply pointing out that it would be ill-advised to zero in on a single idea with no actual proof.”

“Honestly, I just suggested it because it matched his MO, and we don’t know who and where Caster is, and that’s  _ worrying. _ Casters get exponentially more dangerous the more time they’re given,” Trent chimed in, even as Nobu reached up and gave him a consoling pat on the head, causing one of his eyebrows to twitch. It was embarrassing enough that she was making him sit on her lap.

“Mmmmmmm, I don’t really like it, especially with how much trouble this has put me through,” Serafall muttered, her lower lip jutting out even as one of her hands was slapped away from Sona’s head. “It’s even worse because I keep having to deal with  _ that woman _ calling me, telling me that she’s always willing to lend a hand in these trying times! Like I can’t solve the problem without her or something!”

“Serafall, you haven’t been snubbing Heaven’s aid, have you?” Sirzechs asked, turning to slowly look at his longtime friend.

The magical girl shook her head. “No, I just...don’t wanna rely on her, that’s all. I need to prove that I’m still the strong onee-chan that So-tan loves and cherishes!”

Beside her, Sona just grumbled, her expression becoming one of total aggrievance. “Elder sister, please…”

Looking over the tableau, Trent remarked, “Almost reminds me of the team meetings we had in Trifas, eh Johan?”

Johan looked over at Trent soberly. “At least back then we had Bone Daddy and ‘Milla to keep you in line.”

“I miss Carmy,” the blond agreed, even as a knock came at the building’s entrance.

Akeno bustled over to the door, and after answering it, returned wearing a scowl with Azazel trailing along behind, a grim look on his face. Swaggering to stand by the table and offering a cheeky wave to both groups, he spoke, “I can see that things really got heated out there. And, given just who it was that caused all of this, I figured it would be wise to show up.”

After a quiet moment of people watching him, he asked, “So, just what happened to Kokabiel’s remains? Even if he was a traitor…”

As one, the room pointed to Nobunaga, and the redhead shrugged. “Figured it would be kinder to put him out of his misery, so I incinerated him. He’s dust in the wind.”

At that, Ryoma cleared his throat. “Actually…” The Hero of Reform got to his feet and walked over to Azazel, then deposited a small cloth pouch into the Fallen’s hand. He glanced over at Oryou, who was pouting at him.

“I figured you’d rather your former comrade’s remains  _ not  _ be eaten by my wife, so I collected what ashes I could.” Ryoma scratched the back of his head. “I know it’s hardly enough for a proper burial, but…” He trailed off awkwardly.

Taking the pouch, the Governor General nodded gratefully, and declared, “Many thanks, though I’ll probably just end up scattering these at sea.”

“So, why exactly are you here, Azazel-chan?” Serafall asked, eying the Fallen curiously even as she surreptitiously tried to give her little sister a head pat.

“Well,” Azazel replied, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his longcoat as he leaned against the wall, “when I felt Kokabiel’s star go out, I thought I ought to come collect his remains and offer my apologies for my wayward subordinate.” His brow pulled down into a frown. “Truth be told, I’d hoped he’d be captured alive, if only so I could ask him  _ why… _ but I suppose I should have expected him to choose a death in battle over a life imprisoned.”

“He kept babbling about the war to end all wars,” Serafall replied, kicking her feet dejectedly as Tsubaki gently redirected her hand. “I told him that he was kookoo for kokopuffs, because that was last century.”

“And yet, for those who have become so embroiled in war, life becomes one, and the only escape is death,” Avenger remarked, her free hand coming up and bringing her kiseru to her lips.

From atop his Master’s lap, Astolfo declared, “Wait, when did you get all sexy-like, Archer?”

“I’m the Demon King of Six Billion Worlds, Astolfo, many things are under my purview,” Nobu stated calmly, her kiseru smoking slightly as she blew out a stream that morphed into a butterfly before fading completely.

-x-x-x-

After the three higher-ups bickered among themselves for a good long while, they eventually turned their gazes back to the otherworlders. They didn’t speak for a moment, and after a few shared glances, Azazel cleared his throat. “So, you kids are essentially free agents, right? Not tied down to any faction?”

Ryoma opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it and waved a hand to Nobunaga and Trent, as they were the ones to handle negotiations the last time they’d met with the Fallen. The blond caught the look just before the Avenger did, and decided to take the initiative, given their current situation. “Something to that effect,” the Canuck replied, leaning back into Nobu and all but shoving his hair into her mouth. “While we have no official relations with any of the factions, we have an amicable relationship with the Youkai of Kyoto. Beyond that, our only other contacts are you all.”

“The Youkai, huh?” Serafall murmured, her brow creasing as she turned to look at her coworker and the Fallen.

The Lucifer shrugged with a look of consideration on his face, while Azazel nodded, “Yeah, this lot said they were friendly with a certain foxy lady in Kyoto. Someone that I would certainly love to get  _ very _ friendly with. She’s a real beaut, eh Sirzechs?”

“I’m a happily married man, Azazel, and unlike you and my father, I’m monogamous,” Sirzechs shot back, completely ignoring the way that an intimidating silver-haired woman in a maid outfit (who was  _ definitely  _ not Sakuya Izayoi) appeared behind him, glaring at the Governor-General.

Trent looked at the maid, considered the way that she was looking at the Fallen, and then noticed the way that Sirzechs had silently reached up to pat her hand. The blond nodded, and decided not to question what had just happened, especially when Azazel chuckled, “I’m not saying you should cheat on your lovely Grayfia! A ménage à trois! Come now, you kids and your newfangled monogamy…”

“Well, yes, the Lady Yasaka is quite beautiful, but we shouldn’t get too lost in the reeds,” the blond coughed into his fist, deciding that he  _ really _ didn’t need to hear about what one of the four Satans got up to in the bedroom. Trent took a breath and added, “Was there anyth—”

“That’s it!” Serafall declared as she brought a fist down on her palm, her eyes shining. “We just need to bring in another group! That’s how we’ll keep things from getting too out of hand in the big meeting!”

At this, Ryoma spoke up, arching an eyebrow. “A big meeting? I fear that we’ve been left out of the loop; would you be so kind as to elaborate, Lady Leviathan?”

“Oh, call me Levia-tan, Ryo-chan, and as for the big meeting, we’ve got plans for a big ol’ powwow with us and the doves upstairs, but the issue was always getting everyone to agree on the hosts and where it should be held!” the magical girl exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips as shards of ice twinkled in the air, taking the form of stars and hearts. “But if we bring in a neutral party as the host…”

“...then there will be a mediator in case tempers run too hot,” Ryoma finished with a nod. “Sensible.”

“Exactly! And, even though we’ve been hanging out here in Japan for so long, they aren’t allied with us, or the Fallen, or Heaven, which makes them perfect for the job!” Serafall concluded, puffing her chest out proudly.

Astolfo leaned into his master’s ear and whispered, “I like her! Maybe we should invite her to our… _ playtime _ , at some point.”

Charlie blinked, he blinked again. Then with gentle cruelty, he reached up and put his hands over the Paladin’s mouth. While he cared for the pinket deeply, he wasn’t sure that he’d survive both him  _ and _ whatever Serafall was.

-x-x-x-

Haneda International Airport was a mess of activity, people rushing to and fro as they hurried to get to their flights or escape the doldrum of the place. Normally, it would have been uninterrupted, were it not for the figure striding out of the arrivals gate.

She was a stunning blonde woman, her waves of pink-highlighted hair cascading down her back and swaying gently and hypnotically behind her. She wore high quality, top of the line brand-name clothing, Prada on her feet, Louis Vuitton hanging from her shoulder, and Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses hiding her eyes. Some unknown scent followed behind her, an alluring musk that tickled at people’s noses, their eyes trailing after her, seemingly entranced by the smell.

The woman smiled alluringly, enjoying how she commanded the attention of everyone who laid eyes on her. The only thing keeping the public from realizing how disgusted she was with them were her sunglasses, hiding the way that she sneered and glared at the people weaving too and fro.

Stepping out into the cool air of the night, her eyes locked onto the woman carrying a placard with her name on it and leaning against a car. The woman holding the sign crushed it in a single movement, the material disappearing from sight as she stood straight.

She too drew eyes, though not as many as the blonde. Clad in an inappropriately worn kimono, which was open to bare most of her breasts and show off her legs. And though her full breasts and shapely legs drew eyes, the scar tissue ringing her neck and scattered across her flesh drew far more. Even more striking was the huge amount of black hair growing from her head, which was somehow not dragging on the ground despite the sheer volume.

The newly arrived woman let out a hum. “So, what? Are they, like, trying to have a reunion or something? Little Yassy called me back, and decided to have  _ you _ , of all people pick me up?”

“She has plans,” the raven-haired woman leaning on the car replied, reaching down and grasping at the door handle. “I don’t know about what, but plans. Besides, there’s been a taste in the air, a familiar one.”

The blonde let out an ugly noise, and retorted, “Oh, I can smell the stench, but you and I know that he’s been dead for years. Probably just some trog trying to act big.”

“You don’t think it’d be a fun time? You, me, and the old boy leading another parade through the country?” The raven-haired woman grinned, flashing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “Think about it, Hoji, a party the likes of which this country’s not seen in centuries.”

‘Hoji’ let out a harsh laugh, and a wicked smile took hold of her face. “Oh, now you’re tempting me, a Hyakki Yakou led by the Three Great Calamities? That’d be such a blast, imagine how many likes we’d get on Insta!”


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Kermitting Fraud

**Chapter Fifteen: Kermitting Fraud**

About a week had passed since the coalition had returned from Kuoh with news and requests, and in the time since then, Reverse Kyoto had been quietly abuzz with gossip and rumors about the Three Factions’ Peace Conference. Naturally, Lady Yasaka had been most busy in the interim, reaching out to all three groups for the purposes of planning and concessions alike.

So it was that, by the time Johan sat across the negotiating table from Lady Yasaka once more, it’d taken that whole week for her to find time to meet with them again. Unusually, though, this time he wasn’t the one doing the negotiating. Indeed, neither was Ryoma. No, this meeting had been called by _Oryou_ . The usually lackadaisical dragon woman had a keen glint in her eyes, and her face was schooled into a serious, businesslike expression. Even her usual airy floating was tightly controlled, so that she almost seemed to be sitting at the table normally. To her, this meeting was clearly of the _utmost_ importance, and when she’d insisted on it, Ryoma and Johan had come along as damage control and moral support, respectively.

Trent was outside, industriously making familiars and setting them against Archer in order to keep her from interfering.

What, you might ask, could possibly whip the usually languorous Oryou into such an industrious state? Well, the answer was simple.

_Money._

“Missus Sakamoto, allow me to get the facts in order here,” Yasaka asked quietly, her fan up and hiding her mouth, eyes closed and desperately trying to keep her expression neutral. “You wish to open a business. But what goods or services would it provide?”

“Frogs and frog accessories,” Oryou replied seriously. “Oryou is an expert on the matter of frogs, and as such the goods she would provide would be of the highest quality.”

It took the kitsune a few minutes to formulate her response, her eyes opening as she looked between Ryouma and his Master. She then asked, “A pet store, then?”

Ryoma was the one to reply, this time. “I believe Oryou is referring to frog novelty items, actually.” He scratched the back of his head. “Real frogs are actually something of a delicacy to her.”

The blonde stopped, took a moment, and then looked Oryou in the eye. “Missus Sakamoto, are you planning to open a restaurant and novelty shop with _frog_ dishes as the basis?”

“Oh, no. Oryou can’t cook," the dragon said with a shake of her head. “But Oryou _can_ spread the majesty of frogs through handmade knick-knacks and doodads.”

At the same time, Ryoma rifled through a small satchel at his side, before producing a finely-sewn frog plushie and placing it on the table. “A proof of concept, if you will.” He poked it in the stomach and it let out a surprisingly lifelike croak.

That the croak was a recording of the dying cries of one of Oryou’s many meals was left unmentioned, of course.

Picking up the plush and studying it, Yasaka quietly mused that Kunou would probably be enamoured with such a gift, although she’d need to detach the younger kitsune from Nobunaga’s shadow. Replacing it on the table, she coughed. “I do agree that your products seem to be of the right calibre to be sold at a professional level. However, I cannot guarantee that you will see success with such a…limited line of products.”

Oryou let out a considering hum, then suggested, “Oryou could also sell frog-themed foods. A frog shaped taiyaki might not taste as good as a real frog, but Oryou is confident in her housewife horsepower.”

“And I’m a fair hand with a needle,” Ryoma added, gesturing to the frog he’d sewn to his wife’s exacting standards, “perhaps I can craft merchandise with a wider variety of themes. This ‘Yankee’ culture seems rather popular of late…”

“I suppose that I can see about working something out, but, should your venture fail, do not doubt that I will shut it down,” Yasaka warned the pair, ignoring the approaching sounds of gunfire and squawking. With how the oni living in Kyoto had taken to the subculture, she could easily see it being a success.

Before anyone could speak, Nobunaga burst into the room, Trent having slid the door out of the way before she could walk through it like a small, Japanese Kool-Aid Man. “And what about me, Diplomat?! How shall this Demon King of the Sixth Heaven contribute?” Normally, the question would come off as intimidating, but seeing as she’d shrunk back into her basic Archer form, she mostly just carried the enthusiasm of a particularly excited gremlin. “I’m a dab hand at explosives, and I can even offer servitors to those with the right amount of money!” Pulling a small, cutesy and doll-like version of herself from nowhere, it let out a chirp of acknowledgement as it snapped out a salute.

“Nobu!”

Behind her, Trent looked on in silent horror, having no idea how to gently tell her no.

 _“Not the mini-Nobbus,”_ Johan breathed in stark despair.

Ryoma, levelheaded and quick-thinking man that he was, replied almost instantly. “Selling your personalized weaponry to the public would not only be a waste of your talents, but it would _also_ be incredibly dangerous. No, I have a far more important role in mind for you, Lord Nobunaga. Something _only_ you can do.”

“Oh? And just what do you mean by that, Diplomat? The entire world deserves to be entranced by the spectacle of the products I could bring to your shop,” the Archer responded, her eyebrows rising as she watched the Hero of Reformation.

Yasaka looked between the two heroic spirits, unsure as to just what was happening, forced to live with the fact that the appearance of the Mini-Nobbu had filled her with a primal, soul-searing dread.

“Your name and mantle alone would bring all the spectacle necessary,” Ryoma rejoined, pressing his hat against his head, “for I would have you be the face of our shop. The Chief Executive Officer, I believe they call it in the modern age. How much more credibility and prestige would our little shop have with the Demon King’s backing?”

“Hoho! An excellent proposal indeed!” Nobunaga exclaimed, puffing her chest out as the Mini-Nobbu disappeared into the aether, causing an unseen tension to fade from the room. A savage grin crossed her face, one hand coming up in a claw as a skull formed in it. “I shall accept! Allow me to do a skull-dance in celebration!”

Johan didn’t know what a skull-dance was, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

The kitsune who led all of Kyoto and the Youkai of Japan had no idea how close the entire nation had come to destruction, only to be saved by Ryoma’s exceptionally quick thinking.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The Novelty Shop of the Sixth Heaven was a mishmash of traditional Japanese design and Western postmodernist ideas, the interior much the same. One half of the shop was dominated by froggy goods of every stripe and species, the goods themselves ranging from incense burners to netsuke to handkerchiefs. The other side of the shop looked like someone had taken a British Import Store, filled half of it with American goods, then vomited it out, and featured such items as leather jackets with Papiyas throwing six-armed devil horns and ‘DAI-ROCK-TEN’ burned onto their backs, soft downy feathers decorating their ruffs and cuffs. In the middle, where the two clashing sides met, sat a golden Pepe the Frog head, set in a Kermit the Frog kigurumi.

The usual ambience of the store, provided by the recorded frog chirping playing over the sound system, was cut off by the door swinging open and a loud group of pompadour-sporting oni trooping in, led by a rough and tumble woman who was covered in scars.

From behind the till, Ryoma called out, “Welcome, welcome. If there is anything I can help you find, do not hesitate to ask.”

The gang of oni let out a synchronized shout of understanding, bustling over to the Americanized section to browse the goods available. Their seeming leader answered the Hero with a slow nod and narrowed eyes, but sedately moved to study one of the featured jackets.

She ignored the way that her followers hustled and bustled about, one of them crowing to the others about having found a new motorcycle magazine, that even came with a cool calendar that had some naked women on it, but more importantly, had super rad customized bikes. Instead, the leader casually tucked a lock of her waterfall of hair out of her face as she studied the most prominently displayed jacket, taking in the power that had been used to carve the design and motto into the back.

It burned her nose, the very power feeling like it was trying to kill her through that alone. She couldn’t identify the owner, not with how little she could pull from that alone, but it painted an interesting picture. More than that…she gently stroked one of the feathers on the sleeve as she considered the texture of what was seeping from it. Picking it up and taking it to the front of the store, she put it down in front of Ryoma.

“Apologies for the rowdiness of my men, they can be…excitable at the best of times.”

Ryoma shook his head, a polite smile on his face. “Hardly, miss. They may be a bit enthusiastic, but my associates are of the eccentric sort, as you might be able to tell based on our... _exotic_ stock.” He put a hand to the side of his mouth, and mock-whispered, “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a good reason I man the front and they work in the back.”

“The same reason why I lead that lot, I suppose,” the woman murmured as she pulled a satchel from somewhere inside her improperly worn kimono. Noting the odd power coming from the man, she tilted her head to the side. “The materials for this jacket…no, the feathers, where did they come from?”

Ryoma’s gaze flicked around the store, and seeing that there didn’t appear to be any customers of the more mundane variety, replied, “I am unsure of the precise mechanics, but those are sourced to one of our workers. He happens to be a magus whose specialties lie in avian-related thaumaturgy.”

“Avian-related…” the woman murmured, her eyes narrowing as she took in that answer. “I suppose I can’t ply anything further from you?”

The Rider spread his hands apologetically. “I’m afraid that my knowledge of the mystic arts isn’t terribly comprehensive. Young Blackmore is currently out and about, but he helps out here from time to time, so if you wish to learn more about him and his craft, perhaps you could return this weekend? We usually have more customers then, so he will likely be about.”

“I might have to,” the female oni declared, noting the name as she filed the information away and mentally drafted a message to someone she knew would be interested in this information. Paying for the jacket, she slung it over her shoulders, not bothering to put her arms through the sleeves as she turned away from Ryoma.

Ignoring her followers, she stated, “Then, this Shuten Douji will allow your shop to continue its business unmolested. And if you can get any good foreign alcohol in…” The boss of all oni looked over her shoulder, shooting the Hero of Reformation a small smile as she nodded.

“Well, that’d be real swell, y’know? And hey, I’m pretty sure my friend will like at least half your store.”

Ryoma, despite being taken off-guard by the _massive_ bomb that had just been dropped in his lap, managed a courteous smile and nod. “As we are a new establishment and still finding our feet, your suggestion is most welcome. We may have to speak with Lady Yasaka about a liquor license, however…” He trailed off thoughtfully.

Shuten shrugged, each of Papiyas’s raised hands pumping alongside her shoulders. “If you tell little Yasaka I asked, you might get never before seen results.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” replied the Hero of Reform with a service smile, “but until then, thank you for your patronage.”

With a sharp whistle, the oni who had been accompanying her snapped to attention, carefully replacing whatever they were holding on the shelves before forming up around her. “Let’s hit the road, shitheads! Hoji’s brought us some good stuff from abroad!”

The collected oni let out a cheer as they followed their leader from the store, all of them offering nods or abbreviated bows to Ryoma as they trooped out.

The Rider resolved to, as soon as the man returned, ask Trent just what in the _blazes_ he had done to those jackets to get the attention of one of Japan’s Three Great Monsters.

“I am starting to see just how compatible that man is with the Demon King,” Ryoma groused. “Both of them cause problems just by existing, I swear.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen: The Gang Didn’t Make A Bad First Impression (This Time)

**Chapter Sixteen: The Gang Didn’t Make A Bad First Impression (This Time)**

“Oi! I didn’t do anything! I just gave some of the feathers I treated to be used for the jackets, that’s all!” Trent declared, crossing his arms as he met Rider’s gaze. “Y’know, the feathers  _ you _ asked me to provide?”

The two were sitting in the managerial office/breakroom of the shop owned and run by the Servants. It was rather plain, with a single desk (whose top was covered in unfinished paperwork), alongside a number of couches, and three mini-fridges stacked on top of each other and duct-taped together.

Ryoma tented his gloved hands in front of his face. “You did nothing unusual at all to them? Nothing that would leave a scent or signature, whether physical or mystical?”

Trent’s lips pursed as he replied, “Oh, no, I totally did.”

Ryoma groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose before waving a hand for him to continue. Seeing that, the blond cleared his throat. “Well, uh, to actually  _ make _ it so that feathers can be used for my magecraft, they either need to be previously magical  _ or… _ ” Trent trailed off, his jaw working from side to side. After a moment, he finished, “Or well, I need to treat them by bathing them in my blood, under the light of the moon.”

The Hero of Reform stared at Trent for a long, long moment. After what seemed like an eternity, Ryoma spoke again, as though the Canuck had never replied. “So then the question we need to answer is this: why would your blood or your magic be of note to  _ Shuten Douji? _ Of more note than the Lord Nobunaga’s fires lingering in the back of the jacket, at that!”

“Man, fuck, I dunno?” Trent answered, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. “There is nothing about it that I know of that would twig anyone’s senses! Maybe my bloodline? In another timeline, Gransurg Blackmore became a Dead Apostle Ancestor, so could that do it?”

Ryoma rubbed at his chin, then called out the door. “Oryou! A moment, if you please?”

A few seconds passed, and Oryou floated in the door, her normal outfit of a gakuran changed for a sharp two-piece suit and slacks. A pair of purely cosmetic spectacles balanced precariously on the tip of her nose as she came to a halt in front of Ryoma’s desk. In her hands was an extremely fat frog-shaped wallet, which every couple of moments she gave a little shake, just to hear the coins inside jingle.

“How can Sexy Secretary Oryou help Ryoma?” asked the dragon woman, completely serious.

The Hero of Reform, as ever unfazed by his wife’s antics, motioned to Trent. “Does Blackmore here smell unusual to you? Unusual for a human, I mean.”

Oryou wrinkled her nose and floated towards Trent, humming as she seemed to inspect him. “Oryou doesn’t like the smell of any human other than Ryoma, but she’ll try to figure it out.”

After a few uncomfortable minutes, Mr. Sakamoto’s Dragon Secretary backed away and declared, “Bird mage smells like he always does: like feathers, magic and maple syrup.”

“I knew that maple syrup body wash was a good investment,” the blond stated with a firm nod, crossing his arms as he leaned back into the couch he was sitting on.

“I suspected as much,” Ryoma said tiredly. “Thank you, Oryou. That was all I needed.”

Oryou gave a hum of understanding, jingled her purse again, and floated out of the room, calling over her shoulder, “Ryoma shouldn’t overwork himself. Oryou wants him to be awake for when she takes him out for their first big dinner from her amazing business profits.” Without waiting for a reply, she drifted away, back to her den.

A small smile on his face, Ryoma shook his head. “That woman…” he muttered, then straightened his hat and coughed into his fist. “Anyways! That confirms my suspicions. Namely, that Shuten Doji’s reaction to your…’scent’ was not due to anything odd about you in particular, but more likely due to something in her past which you reminded her of. What that could be, I cannot say, but I suspect we shall find out this coming weekend.”

“I mean, listen, I’ll show up and help this weekend…as long as you can guarantee that she won’t debone me. We don’t have Kintoki, Ibaraki or Raikou on hand to keep her preoccupied, after all,” Trent declared, staring defiantly in the face of the Hero of Reformation as he tried to hide from dealing with the boss of all Oni.

Ryoma narrowed his eyes in thought. “She did not give off the air of someone who would do violence without a very good reason. That being said, I am uncertain that our definitions of ‘a very good reason’ line up. Polite or not, she is not one of the Three Great Monsters without cause.” 

He chewed at his lip. “Should things go sour, I will be there to attempt diplomacy, and Oryou will be in the adjacent room if force becomes a necessity. Beyond that…” Ryoma let out a sigh. “If worst comes to worst, have your Command Seals ready. Loathe though I am to have Lord Nobunaga anywhere near this situation, her abilities when pitted against beings of Mystery are undeniable.”

“If it comes to that,” Trent began, looking the scruffier man in the eye, “while God might forgive us, Yasaka never would for the damages done.”

Ryoma shuddered. “And Oryou never would for using the profits from her shop to cover those damages.”

Both men shared a moment of silent contemplation, and wordlessly agreed that the worst  _ must not _ come to pass.

-x-x-x-x-x-

All too soon, the day of reckoning arrived. The store was empty of customers, as Ryoma had removed the “open” sign and replaced it with an “on lunch break” sign that had been lovingly handmade (and of course decorated with frogs) by Oryou. As the clock ticked loudly, Johan leaned against the checkout counter beside Trent, his grimoire under his arm. Ryoma was in the back, briefing Oryou on her covert mission.

“Look at it this way,” he was saying, “I’d  _ hope _ that Yasaka would’ve warned us if there was something about you that would put you in danger from such a powerful Yokai. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t be careful, I’m just saying that we need to keep an even head for this. You feel me?”

“Johan, the last time we trusted someone in that way, Nobu let Kokabiel  _ go _ ,” the blond shot back, his expression utterly deadpan and tired. He’d been up all night worrying about the implications of the meeting. “And before you say that Yasaka isn’t Nobu, Yasaka also didn’t warn us that Shuten Douji was running around.”

“Not unfair,” the ectomancer conceded, “but even if you believe she’d put us in danger like that, do you really think she’d risk  _ Kyoto _ ? The amount of collateral damage and overall destruction would be catastrophic, to say the least.”

“This is true,” Trent conceded, nodding slowly as he flexed his hands in and out of fists. “However, I still worry, because this is the Boss of all Oni we’re talking about.”

Johan nodded soberly. “I totally get you, my dude. I’m nervous too, I’m just trying to keep relatively calm so that we don’t accidentally a war or something.”

Before Trent could reply, the door to the shop clattered open, a disdainful sniff heralding the arrival of Shuten and her companion. The first was a new person, this one done up in high fashion from outside of Japan, her blonde hair done up in a fancy bun, the only oddity to her appearance were the fox ears twitching atop her and nine fox tails trailing behind her. Following after her was clearly Shuten, matching the description that Ryoma had given them, the only difference being that she was wearing her new leather jacket on her shoulders.

“Are you  _ serious _ , Shuten? This  _ hovel _ is where we’re supposed to find the person with that stuffy old bird’s stench?” the new woman complained, her face pulling into a harsh scowl.

The Oni in question hummed. “It’s quaint, but that’s what’s good about it. It doesn’t need to be so fancy as your usual fare, Hoji.”

“What _ ever _ ,” Hoji grumbled, ignoring the way that Trent had started at her name. Looking over at him, she strode over to him, her nose twitching as she did. “Well, it’s not like you were  _ wrong _ either. Whoever this human  _ is _ , he does  _ reek _ of the old bird.”

“Wow, thanks for that,” Trent grunted in reply, trying to meet the kitsune’s eyes through her Gucci sunglasses. “Name’s Trent Blackmore, nice to meet you, Tamamo no Mae, Shuten Douji.”

Johan raised a hand in greeting. “Johan Lewis. I’m his friend, here for moral support.”

“And I’m the Servant Rider,” Ryoma said, emerging from the back, adjusting his collar as he came around the side of the checkout counter. “What can we do for you?”

“We  _ wanted _ to see just who it was casting the old bird’s stench all over the winds,” Tamamo declared, putting her hands on her hips as she popped her stance. Behind her, the Boss of all Oni shook her head at the dramatics of her compatriot. “And what did we find, but some scrawny  _ weeb _ who smells like he crawled out from beneath the old bird’s corpse.” Waving over at Johan, she added, “Alongside some other weeb who smells like an  _ onryo _ ’s wet fart.”

“Hey now, I don’t think we count as weebs, given the circumstances,” Trent noted, looking over at his friend.

Johan cupped his chin. “You might be right,” the albino said with a nod, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We  _ are _ living here and just doing our own thing. Not like we’re going full Ken-sama and appropriating culture or anything.”

The kitsune made a disgusted noise at the name, and harrumphed, “I suppose I can at  _ least _ accept that, given that the two of you didn’t  _ immediately _ start cooing in shitty Japanese over my ears and tails.”

Johan arched an eyebrow. “Beyond being incredibly cringe, wouldn’t that be  _ kiiiinda  _ racist?”

“No, _really?_ ” Tamamo asked in reply, her tone scathingly acidic. “Fucking _weebs_. They’re the _worst_. Especially that mental defect _,_ _Metatron_.”

Trent sputtered at the name, his eyes going wide at the idea that not only was the Voice of God a weeb, but that he was one of enough terrible power to make Tamamo no Mae sound as enraged as she was.

“God really is dead, huh?” Johan and Trent said, almost in unison.

After a moment, the blond quietly declared to the albino, “We can  _ never _ let him and Okkie meet.”

Johan looked back at Trent with dead eyes. “Knowing our luck, they’ve already met in a chatroom.”

Clearing her throat, Shuten cut in, “Well, as amusing as this distraction has been. I believe that we’ve ascertained just what we came here for.” Reaching over to put her hands on the still seething kitsune’s shoulders, she gently rubbed them. “Now, young Blackmore, we’ll be expecting great things to come from this. It’s been far,  _ far _ too long since someone like Sutoku showed up and ran rampant.”

The blond would’ve choked if there had been anything in his mouth, but it instead caused him to release a crow-like croak.

“Yeah, just like that!” the oni encouraged him as she guided her companion from the store, the bell tinkling as they pushed the door open and stepped out.

In front of her, Tamamo snorted, “Eugh, I’m going to need  _ such _ a palate cleanser, having to deal with Sutoku’s musty feather stench and that knock-off Michizane miasma stinking up that place.”

Johan almost choked on his saliva at the comparison.  _ Him _ , smell like a knock-off of one of Sutoku Tenno’s fellow great onryo?

_ Brrrr. _

In the silence after the two disappeared, Trent managed to mutter, “I have no idea what the most worrying or shocking part of that entire encounter was.”

“Everything,” Johan said with dead certainty.

“That actually went far better than I anticipated,” Ryoma commented, leaning back against the counter and absently polishing his revolver with a cloth. “Nobody is injured or dead, nothing is on fire, and there was no property damage. All things considered, a vague ‘we will be expecting things of you’ is  _ worrying _ , but manageable, methinks.”

“Manageable, he says…” Trent grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. “Have you forgotten that we still know shit all about who Berserker, Caster, and Lancer might be, let alone their Masters? On top of this? This is such a fucking  _ nightmare _ .”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Standing at the security checkpoint in an airport, clad in a respectable suit that clashed terribly with his wild hair and the crazed look in his eyes, Vlad Tepes III cut a curious figure. Behind him, his Master quietly shook her head as the Lancer loudly argued with one of the airport staff over the danger presented by a pen, and whether or not the one that he had been carrying would be returned to him.

Valerie looked behind her at the rapidly expanding line of clearly angry and exasperated people. She mouthed an apology to them, and was happy to receive looks of understanding and sympathy in reply.

Turning back to the man who had taken to calling himself her uncle, she bit back a deep sigh. She just wanted to see Gasper…

Despite herself, though, she couldn’t find it in herself to be  _ really _ upset with Lancer. For all his eccentricity, these last few weeks of travel with him had been the best in her life. Since he had razed Castle Tepes to the ground and freed her from her prison, she’d had the luxury of feeling something other than dull, unending despair.

With a faint smile she didn’t even register as being on her face, Valerie Tepes stepped forward and took her ancestor’s hand.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen: Highway To Hell (And Other Underworlds)**

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, flowers were blooming, and birds were singing in the trees. A perfect day in Kyoto for Nobunaga to force her Master and his compeer through her patented bootcamp: Nobunaga’s Wonderful and Humane Demon King Training Camp, Suitable for Even Children.

And, neither Trent nor Johan could see the lovely weather, as they were currently in a grotto that the Demon Lord of the Sixth Heaven had blasted out beneath the shop. It was lit by the infernal fires of her Reality Marble, casting the entire cave in a hellish light.

Naturally, Kunou was being entertained across the city, to keep her from catching sight of the hellish scene unfolding on the field.

Trent was on his knees frantically transforming piles of feathers into familiars, all of them crackling with electrical energy, using them as a smokescreen. This wasn’t very useful, as Nobu kept shooting them down, cackling maniacally and roaring for him to make more and be  _ better _ . The blond felt ready to puke, not just from all the running he’d been doing, but also from the sheer amount of mana he’d been expending in order to keep from catching a bullet somewhere uncomfortable.

Johan, for his part, was doing his level best to ape the Mystic Code of one Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi with his ectoplasm. Results could be charitably described as  _ mixed _ , considering Volumen Hydragyrum was a high-class semi-autonomous Mystic Code created by a genius magus with the backing of a Lord’s family, while Johan’s ectoplasm was merely a malleable mass of ether left behind after the passing of life.

In layman’s terms, it was like a child trying to mimic the elegant and deadly swordplay of a master while using a weapon made of Play-Doh.

He’d only been shot three times this round, though, so it was some manner of progress.

On Trent’s end, he was working to try and smooth out the process of creating his familiars, which was not working well in the least, though he’d managed to make a swirling mass of feathers that loosely resembled a ball and unleashed the occasional bolt of electricity.

With a delighted, hyena-esque cackled, an array of rifles sprouted from Nobu’s back like wings, and she took to the skies. Swooping around above them, her rifle-wings raining hellish lead upon them, she crowed, “Move, you two, move! I’m going to fill you with holes before you have the chance to reach up to the level of a calamity like me!”

Johan glanced over at Trent and mouthed  _ split  _ and dashed away from his compatriot, covering his back with his makeshift ectoplasm barrier. He didn’t really expect their tormentor and trainer to have much trouble harrying both of them at once, but it was the best idea he could come up with at the time.

The blond let out a screech, the feathers he’d been trying to use to make a familiar-generating orb turning in the air and flying in every direction. Unable to control the wayward feathers, Trent just kept moving, using what feathers he could to block bullets or harry Nobu.

As they dodged and weaved among the rubble left behind in the grotto, successive hails of bullets tore apart the terrain and peppered both of the magi with sharp rocks, causing stinging pain even where Nobu’s bullets failed to find their marks.

The Demon Lord whooped and hollered, but her aerial reign of terror was brought to an end when a large brown shape slammed into her, sending her careening into the ground. Flapping its wings frantically, the Hippogriff and Charlie let out matching croaks. Astolfo clapped and cheered and did a little wiggle dance as he exclaimed, “Yay, underground aerial racing circuit, let’s  _ GOOOOOO!” _

Launching herself up from the ground, cradled in Papiyas’s ribcage, Nobunaga roared, “Your challenge is met! Master, Master’s friend, we must prepare the course, and invite the requisite peoples and participants!” As she called that out, the red skeleton wrapped around her warped and shifted, taking the form of a motorcycle, although it was still entirely skeletal and bursting with its infernal flames.

“Oryou will sell concessions,” said the dragon woman who had definitely not been floating there a moment prior. “Big frog money to be made at the racing circuit, mhm,” she concluded with a firm nod, then floated directly up from whence she came, astralizing before she came into contact with the ceiling.

Johan, just happy that he wasn’t being shot at anymore, slumped against a rock to catch his breath.

Trent looked at Nobu, studied her bike for a moment and considered asking if he could sit in a theoretical sidecar. The Canuck then remembered all the statistics associated with motorcycles and reckless drivers, alongside how much of a knucklehead McSpazzatron Nobu was. Nodding firmly, he remarked, “So, call Yasaka and ask if she knows anyone who would be interested?”

Johan shrugged. “Better than being shot at,” he muttered, just loud enough for his compatriot to hear. “Maybe it’ll help her channel all that big nuggie energy.”

Even as he spoke, he relayed Trent’s suggestion to Ryoma, who was no doubt already being accosted by his dragon wife about the potential profits of this latest tomfuckery.

The blond grunted, pulling out his cell phone and inputting the boss of Kyoto’s phone number. “Normally, I’d be excited that I’d called a woman enough to have her number memorized.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

After much back and forth with the exasperated overlord of Kyoto, she relented and agreed to send out feelers and such to those she thought would be interested. There was a brief moment where the kitsune’s mask slipped and she griped about how she wasn’t a janitor, and how they were damaging Kyoto’s good name. Trent had apologized for what he’d unwittingly unleashed upon her now-blighted land, and attempted to console her by pointing out how much money this could potentially bring in.

While it didn’t completely mollify her, it was enough to calm her somewhat, after she shook the Canadian down for a promise to  _ never _ let Kunou ride with Nobu. Knowing the Archer as he did, Trent agreed in a heartbeat.

With that done, Yasaka had calmed down slightly, at which point she started to lay down the law. For the sake of their now official racing circuit, they’d need to set up ticket booths, seating, concession stands, the works. Oryou found the entire challenge charming.

With both of the Servants, as well as Trent, preoccupied with preparations for the upcoming fiasco, Johan was left to his own devices. Finally faced with an appreciable amount of free time, the first thing he did was take a long, hot shower and an even longer nap.

After spending several hours absolutely dead to the world, Johan dragged himself out of bed and back into the world of the living. After eating a quick meal of toad-in-the-hole (Oryou had learned to cook it, though she was disappointed it contained no frogs), the albino took a seat in the study and began paging through his grimoire. 

He needed to figure out some way to advance his Magecraft to another stage. Tamamo-no-Mae’s comment about onryo had gotten him thinking, and if he was remembering correctly....Ah!  _ There  _ it was.

He studied the page he’d paused on. A particularly potent spell only tangentially related to Ectomancy: Ancestral Recall. A magecraft that allowed a mage to contact an ancestor in order to learn skills the ancestor possessed. It was surprising for a magus to name their spells in such a straightforward and appropriate manner, but he wasn’t complaining.

After shooting off a text to Trent about what he was going to do and simultaneously informing Ryoma of the same, Johan went to the back of the house, where their shared magecraft space was. 

The albino took a seat on the floor in the middle of his side of the workshop, cross-legged and meditative. At particular cardinal points surrounding him, globs of ectoplasm rose into the air and ignited, becoming eerie candles that cast shadows that bridged the veils between the land of the living and the land of the dead.

As Johan sank into a self-hypnotic trance, he felt his consciousness travel along those ephemeral pathways, reaching back...back...and further back still…

The trance deepened as the spell continued, the albino magus not noticing at first just how far the spell was reaching. All at once, though, he felt a sensation of falling, as his mind reached back and back and backandbackandbackand…!

The falling stopped, and there was a deep, low chime, the ringing of a bell far larger and far older than mortal man could account for. Sevenfold was the sound of ancient, creaking hinges and sevenfold was the echoing slam of gates being hurled open. Spectral winds gripped at the albino’s bones, wrapping around them like the boney claws of shrieking skeletons, keeping him from digging back up to where he belonged.

A shadow four thousand years forgotten enveloped Johan, and in the next instant, he was gone, the only indication of his displacement being a perfectly smooth piece of lapis lazuli inset in the stone where the magus had previously been seated.


End file.
